The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn
by RoseGold9
Summary: AU (sort of), picks up where Series 1 left off. Story of Rosie O'Leary, IRA member, and Tommy Shelby, Peaky Blinders member. Rated M just to be safe. Going to include pretty much all characters, hopefully.
1. Chapter 1

1.

I sat behind the counter of the shop, tapping the tips of my nails impatiently on the wood surface. We'd had almost no customers all day, and the smoggy Birmingham air flowing in through the open shop door was nearly choking me. My mother sat quietly, working to bring in the waist of a dress, ignoring my impatient noises.

The shop – my mother's business as a seamstress and sometimes tailor – was a front, insofar as it gave us a legitimate and hopefully unquestioned reason to be in Birmingham, to be in England at all. Of course there were Irish living in the city, Irish who supported the IRA and the freedom of their homeland; but it was necessary to pass along messages inconspicuously, to build a network, to do anything to help the cause along.

Personally, I was scared and elated to be seemingly in the center of all this action – my father had sent us over to England two years ago, when the war had started in earnest, saying we'd be better help out of the way. I longed to be home again in Galway, fighting for my country's freedom myself; at the same time, I was glad to be relatively safe in Birmingham, far from the turmoil. The two impulses were constantly at odds with each other, and clashed with every new bit of information that came out, every new act of violence. Things had settled down, but the fight was clearly far from over.

I was startled out of my thoughts by the polite, though somewhat impatient, cough of the man standing in front of me. Embarrassed, I sat up straight as quickly as I could, hoping my mother hadn't noticed.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?" I asked.

"I think you can." He was slightly intimidating, with a grey suit and cap, and a very serious, clean-shaven face. His slightly, but surely purposefully, unapproachable air made me instinctively defensive, and I raised one eyebrow with a little shrug.

"How, then?"

He didn't answer straightaway, instead looking around the little shop. It was small and cluttered but I refused to feel embarrassed; it was the best we could do, and I felt a small surge of power knowing the real reason we kept it up.

"I've a suit that needs tailoring." His voice, with its northern English accent, interrupted my train of thought again.

"We can do that for you."

"I'll bring it round tomorrow, then."

I furrowed my brow; most customers brought whatever needed mending with them. It made no sense why this man would waste his time coming to our shop simply to ask if we could tailor a suit when the sign in the window clearly said we would. Unless…

My heart dropped quickly. _He knew_. He knew it was a front, he knew we were doing something suspicious, even if he didn't exactly know what.

"Is that all?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and my eyes on him.

He looked straight back at me, blue eyes boring into my own.

"Irish?" he asked, quite unexpectedly.

"Yes." _Oh, God_.

"Whereabouts?"

"Galway."

He nodded, taking another look round. "I knew an Irish girl. She used to work at my pub. Have you been?"

I was trying to analyze what he was saying, trying to figure out if he knew, and I was just confusing myself trying to keep up with the conversation at all.

"No, I don't think so. What pub?"

"The Garrison." _Ah_. I'd been by, but never inside; it was always rowdy, loud, too conspicuous and too many men looking for an unaccompanied young women, like me. I'd heard things, though, like that it was a run by a gang. Oddly enough, the fact that the man standing before me was possibly in one of Birmingham's most notorious gangs was a relief; it felt almost like we were both on the same side of the law, the wrong side.

"No, certainly not," I said with a small laugh, looking at my mother behind him; she was busy, lost in her work and completely ignoring us.

"Certainly?" He raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile. "Come round. We'll give you a pint for free. Tell them Tommy Shelby sent you."

I nodded, already planning to ignore his invitation. "All right, then."

Conversation ended, he turned to the door, taking in my mother bent over the dress in one glance before heading out the door. Something he'd said flashed in my mind briefly, and before he'd crossed the threshold I called out behind him.

"You know an Irish girl? Irish Catholic?" Maybe he supported us.

" _Knew_ her." His tone was sharp. "And no."

I exhaled slowly, watching him walk down the street with a resolutely confident step as far as I could. No idea what to think of him; he was certainly not on the right side of the law, but I couldn't tell if he'd out a member of the IRA, even one who hadn't been back to Ireland in years and lived alone with her mother above a seamstress's shop. _Maybe I should take up his invitation_ , a little voice said in the back of my head. _Just to see what he's about_.

"Who was that?" My mother was staring at him, too. I guess she had noticed.

"Tommy Shelby," I answered with a shrug. My mother shot a sharp glance at me; something had clicked in her mind, but she wasn't going to tell me. I could tell, as she carefully wiped her face of any expression. She'd learned to be careful, but she'd also learned that I could take care of myself, despite being only twenty years old. No need for coddling.

"Hm," was all she said, before getting up and shutting the shop door, placing the "Closed" sign in the window.

* * *

Two days later, and I still couldn't get Tommy Shelby and his strange visit out of my mind. Resolved to do something about it, I left the shop early on Wednesday and made my way to the home of probably my one true friend in Birmingham, Alice.

She lived in a tiny flat with her family, and we were afforded no privacy there, so we made our way to the cemetery. It was somewhat morbid, but I always felt peaceful in graveyards, and certainly nobody would be eavesdropping on our conversation.

"You know I hate it here, Rosie," she complained as we settled down, back to a tree and legs stretched out in front of us. I breathed in the relatively fresh air, feeling a pang of homesickness for the lush greenness of Galway, and shook my head in an attempt to clear it.

"Oh, hush," I reprimanded her, mock stern. "I have a matter of serious business to discuss."

"Do go on, then," she said, raising one light brown eyebrow over matching eyes.

I inhaled deeply, feeling like a silly schoolgirl asking advice about a boy. _Well, I'm not_ , I told myself resolutely. _I have to protect my family. My people._

"Do you know Tommy Shelby?" I blurted, immediately surprised when her face changed from an expression of mild interest to one of confusion and fear.

"Tommy Shelby?" she answered quickly. "Do you mean Thomas Shelby? Of the Peaky Blinders? Rosie," she said, grabbing my wrist tight, "why do you know the Shelby family?"

"Ow!" I complained, pulling away. "What the bloody hell are you on about? I don't know the Shelby family! Tommy—Thomas—came into the shop, that's all. He seemed a bit odd, maybe, I just wanted to know."

"Odd," she scoffed, shaking her head. "He's proper mad. They all are, the lot of them. You'd do best to listen to me know, Rosie O'Leary. Do not go anywhere near them."

I shifted uncomfortably; Alice knew me better than anyone in Birmingham, besides my mother, but she still didn't know why I was really here. Everyone thought my mother and I had moved after she left my father, and nobody asked any questions. Her hostile reaction to even the mention of a possibly criminal family made me think she wouldn't be so accepting if she knew my real situation.

"Right." I cleared my throat, nervously twisting a gingery red curl around my finger. "Well, I just wanted to know."

"I mean it, Rosie," she said again. "Stay well away."

We sat chatting for a bit, Alice telling me about a boy she'd seen on the street or how her sister was bothering her, but I suddenly just wanted to be by myself, so after twenty or so minutes I pretended I had a terrible headache and went home. Safely in the three-room flat over the shop, I opened the window wide in a futile effort to the get the air circulating and lay on the bed I shared with my mother. Tommy Shelby intrigued me; certainly, he was handsome enough, with his strong jawline and lovely blue eyes. But I didn't like his attitude, and I certainly didn't like the feeling I had that he knew we were up to something. And I hadn't completely dismissed Alice's warnings, either – I may have been part of the IRA, in some way, but I wasn't a full-fledged soldier fighting on the ground for Irish freedom. I just sat in a shop all day and sometimes relayed information between Ireland and England, decoding letters from my father and writing back in the same code.

Sighing, I sat up again, watching the summer sun dipping low towards the horizon, spilling beams of soft orange-yellow light over the industrial streets of Birmingham. Children ran, yelling, and men and women walked around, mothers calling for their children and men intent on business. Watching the sun fall behind the buildings, dimming the light on the city, I decided firmly to take Tommy Shelby up on his offer.

I had almost nothing to lose – I knew how to defend myself, if necessary, and I'd gone to far worse places in service to the IRA before – and I had to find out if he knew we were hiding something. I knew almost nothing about him besides the fact that he, and apparently his family, were involved in a gang, and I really owed it to my own cause to find out if he would disrupt our efforts.

When my mother came upstairs for tea, I had already put on my best peach satiny dress, with a black lace pattern from the waist down, and matching peach heels. She raised one eyebrow, smoothing back her hair. I had inherited my red curls from her, but my mother's were fading with age and mostly kept in a tightly pinned bun at the back of her head.

"I'm going to find out about the Shelby man," I said resolutely. She was a wise woman, and she'd never let me do anything recklessly dangerous; but she was a fighter, just like her husband, my father, and she believed in my own ability to watch after myself.

"Be careful, my love," she said mildly, already moving to put on the kettle. I kissed her on the cheek and swung the door shut behind me, ignoring the nervous churning in my stomach. I was good at passing messages, I was even good at threatening when necessary and carrying them out, as well, though it didn't happen often; but I couldn't help feeling nervous going to the pub of a gang member where I knew nobody and had no escape route.

I made my way through the streets, keeping my eyes focused on the ground and hoping to avoid notice as much as possible. Finally, I came to the Garrison. Taking a deep breath and surveying the area around the pub quickly to see where I might escape if necessary, I pushed open the door.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The first thing I noticed was that the pub was full of men, with only a few women scattered among them. The second was that everyone— _everyone_ —was staring at me, not even bothering to hide their interest in the newcomer. I swallowed, but made myself stare back, feeling a short but sudden surge of panic. Ignoring it, I made my way to the bar and sat down by myself. I had just as much a right to be here as anyone else, I told myself, but I couldn't help feeling my palms growing hot and slick.

"What'll you have?"

I looked up suddenly; I hadn't even noticed the barkeep approach. _Pay attention, O'Leary._

"Whiskey. Irish." He nodded, poured the drink, and set it in front of me. I took a small, delicate sip, turning my head ever so slightly so I could survey the crowd.

It was mostly working class, with pints of beer or glasses of whiskey before them, joking and laughing and arguing and talking. Noisy, rowdy, like any decent pub. _Good cover_.

"So." The deep, familiar voice was right at my ear. Startled, I turned quickly. The serious, opaque face of Tommy Shelby met my eyes. "I see you've taken up my offer."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose." How was I going to be able to tell if he knew about us, why we were in Birmingham? I could barely tell if he was happy to see me.

"Well? What d'you think?"

I glanced around again, taking in the dark wood and lighter walls, the dusty floor and smoky air. "It's a pub." He wasn't the only one who could be mysterious and withdrawn.

He nodded, blue eyes veiled. "How long have you been in Birmingham?"

The question was sudden, and it took me off guard. "Two years." Quickly, my instincts prompted me to spit out the regular story we told anyone who asked. "We had to leave Ireland, my father…" I trailed off, shrugging and sipping my whiskey, hoping that was enough. It was hard to keep lies straight, so my mother had taught me to say as little as possible. Hopefully, Shelby would pick up the hint that whatever imaginary thing my father had done was too painful for me to speak about.

"And I've never noticed your shop before." It wasn't a question.

"No, I suppose not," I answered. _What is he getting at_?

"Birmingham is dangerous," he said softly, again switching tack suddenly and without warning.

"I know," I replied shortly. "I've been here two years. I've noticed."

"Have you?" He was studying me with renewed interest, and I felt uncomfortably like an item at auction. "You need protection," he said bluntly, before I could say anything.

 _Oh_. So that's what he was getting at. He thought me and my mother were two lost women, trying to navigate the dangerous city of Birmingham all on our own; he probably thought I'd be grateful for the protection he and his criminal enterprise could give us. Whatever he wanted in return, though, he wasn't getting it.

"We don't," I replied simply, finishing off my whiskey. We didn't, truly; there were enough Irish in this city.

He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of uncertainty. He hadn't been expecting that, then. Quickly, however, a little voice in my head reminded me that I was probably not doing myself any favors by refusing his offer, since he was bound to wonder why I didn't need it. The Shelbys, after all, were supposed to be the foremost criminal gang in Birmingham, and an Irish girl and her mother far from home with no male relatives to speak of practically screamed vulnerability.

"I just mean, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. And my mother is quite good at looking after us," I said rapidly, tapping my fingers on the bar to channel my nerves. Why _was_ I so nervous? I was a member of the bloody Irish Republican Army, there was no need to be intimidated by a small-city gangster. Nonetheless, I felt jumpy, like I always did when doing business for the cause. I couldn't place my finger exactly on why, though, and refused to accept that maybe it was just because Thomas Shelby _was_ intimidating, as well as frustratingly impossible to read. Usually, that was my strong point, but right at that moment it was failing me.

Shelby cleared his throat, interrupting my jumping thoughts. "Still," he continued casually, as the barkeep set a whiskey before him. I noticed he hadn't had to ask. "Enough to worry about as it is, I'm sure. No one in this city would think twice before robbing you blind, d'you understand? You've lucked out so far, but it can't last long."

I raised an eyebrow, making a point of not being outwardly intimidated. As far as I could tell, he surely knew something was off about us, but that could simply be put down to English suspicions of the Irish. Nonetheless, he seemed a smart enough man, so he likely knew his instincts in this case were right. As far as I could tell, he was trying to force my hand—make me confess to having the protection of the Irish in Birmingham, or force me to accept his, likely at some sort of unsavory price.

"Hm," I said. "What do you get out of this, then? You hardly noticed our shop for two years, what makes you think anyone else would?"

"I get your loyalty." Shelby took a sip of the drink, eyeing me. For a moment I noticed the dark hair, shaved at the sides and falling dark over the fine, strong bones of his face. At first glance, he seemed almost too lovely to be threatening.

"Loyalty?" I replied, resting my chin in my hand in a deliberate attempt at casualness. "How?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a rowdy voice shouted his name. Turning, I saw the source; a tall man with the same haircut, but a mustache added instead of a cleanly shaven face. He made a beeline for Thomas.

"Ah, Tommy," he said loudly, clapping Shelby on the arm.

"Arthur," Shelby interrupted before the strange man could go on. "Say hello to…" Belatedly, I realized I had never properly introduced myself.

"Rose O'Leary. Pleased to meet you, Arthur."

He raised an eyebrow, looking from me to Thomas, a slight, mischievous grin spreading across his face. Shelby cleared his throat, interrupting the awkward silence. "Arthur is my brother."

"I see," I said primly, grabbing at the opportunity to leave this place. "Well, as I said, pleased. I should get home, it's quite late."

Shelby nodded wordlessly as his brother disappeared through a door beside the bar. When I reached into my small purse to pay for my drink, however, he stopped me.

"Consider my offer," was all he said, before disappearing, following his brother.

* * *

"He offered _protection_?" My mother was sitting up in bed, reading, when I came in and told her about the evening. Now, she'd let the book fall to her side and was staring at me with her scrutinizing green eyes.

"Yes, protection," I repeated. "Do you think he knows? I think he was trying to get me to say we didn't need it. Or, to say why, at least." I shook my head, busying myself with changing into my nightgown. "I didn't answer. He said to consider his offer. He said we'd give him our loyalty in exchange."

"Loyalty?"

I bit my tongue; my mother had an annoying habit of repeating things when she was thinking. "Yes, loyalty."

"How?"

"I asked the same thing. He didn't have a chance to say, and I left before he could press me into answering." I paused. "Did I do the right thing? I didn't know…I couldn't tell what I should say," I finished lamely, feeling unaccountably stupid. Whenever I second-guessed myself, I was irrationally afraid my mother would tell my father and I wouldn't be allowed to be part of the business anymore.

She simply patted the bed next to her, however, and pulled me in close when I sat down, resting her cheek on the top of my head.

"You did very well, love," she said soothingly. "I suppose you could say yes, then."

I sat up, surprised; as a rule, my mother never involved anyone else in our affairs.

"Well," she said slowly, seeing the confusion in my eyes, "I don't think it would be the worst thing in the world. Besides, perhaps it would give us an opportunity. To learn more, about what else is going on here. It can only help us to know more, and I would say that your Shelby knows quite a lot."

I nodded in agreement. We really didn't know that much about Birmingham, at least not about the parts that weren't Irish or pro-Irish. But extracting information of any sort from Thomas Shelby seemed like an impossible task at the moment, and I sighed, snuggling under the covers, suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue.

"I'll go back tomorrow afternoon," I said before drifting off. "I'll let him know."

* * *

As it turned out, I didn't need to go to The Garrison at all. At about half past eleven, Thomas Shelby himself entered the shop, quietly, as I was sifting through some letters. In fact, I didn't even noticed anybody enter until I realized someone was standing directly in front of me, causing the thin sunlight that streamed in through the clouded windows was to be blocked.

"Yes—" I started, snapping my mouth shut when I saw Shelby.

"Have you considered my offer?" he said, politely enough. Carefully, I put on my best impassive expression, matching his own usual emotionless calm.

"Yes," I answered blithely, turning my attention back to my letters as if they were of much greater importance. "I've—we've—decided it would be suitable enough. What exactly are you expecting in return, Mr. Shelby?"

"Call me Tommy," he said easily, placing both hands on the counter between us and leaning forward. I swallowed, slightly unnerved by his sudden closeness.

"Tommy, then. What—"

"I told you. Loyalty. When you need to know more, you'll know more."

I looked up, meeting his blue gaze head on. If I wasn't mistaken, his eyes were almost amused. I kept my own face innocently blank, tilting it slightly to one side.

"You're not involving me and my mother in anything, ah… _unsavory_ , are you, now?" I asked, raising one eyebrow, seeing if _he'd_ tell his own secrets.

He leaned back, pulling the brim of his cap down so that the blue eyes were shadowed.

"Good day, Miss O'Leary," he said shortly, nodding slightly before leaving the shop.

I watched him go, walking down the street with a determinedly casual, confident step. It felt like we both knew something about the other, but were too afraid to admit to it, and too afraid to say what we were hiding ourselves. Although, I almost certainly knew he was a Peaky Blinder; it was practically written on his face, although he put on the air of a gentleman. Besides, it was important to his reputation that everyone know he ran the greatest criminal enterprise in Birmingham.

As for me, though, I had more than enough reasons to want to go unnoticed. Making public knowledge of the fact that I was in the IRA wouldn't grant me any special privileges like being a Peaky Blinder granted Tommy—it would probably, in fact, do more harm than good. We did our best to blend in, to appear to Birmingham as nothing more than a small immigrant family of mother and daughter, but Tommy Shelby suspected something more, I could feel it. And he was right to.

I sighed, pushing the letters together in an unsorted pile. I couldn't concentrate at all.

* * *

"You're trying to get an in with the Peaky Blinders?" Mike O'Neill stared at me, dark eyebrows raised over his pale green eyes. He stood over a foot taller than me, but I'd never found him intimidating in the slightest.

"Yes," I answered daintily. "I am. Mother thinks it best."

Mike made a noise, running one hand through his long unkempt hair. My mother had called a small meeting of the most important members of the IRA in Birmingham, to discuss our new situation, and every man there had doubts. We were sitting around Mike's kitchen table, beer and whiskey in hand, and had been discussing the issue for a good twenty minutes.

"You're a wee lass," protested John Flanagan. "You can't handle such a man as that."

I tried to keep from rolling my eyes, but failed. "He's not so scary as all that, Johnny," I said. "I've handled a lot, you know, I'd think you'd have a bit more trust in me than this."

"No one's saying we don't trust you, love," Mike said soothingly. "It's just dangerous. Very dangerous, the Peaky Blinders are, that's all."

The arguments went on for a few more minutes, circling the same themes; that I was too inexperienced, too young, to vulnerable to take on an organization like the Peaky Blinders. The implication was that I'd fail—that the Shelbys would somehow find out about the extent of IRA activity in Birmingham and that would somehow negatively affect us. Or that I simply wouldn't get any useful information, because I didn't know what I was doing, and we'd be no better off than before, left in a very delicate situation. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore; I was twenty years old, and I'd been involved in IRA business for five years. I wasn't _that_ inexperienced, and I sure as hell could handle the Peaky Blinders.

 _They're only a small-time city gang. Only that._

"I can do it!" I snapped, standing up and slamming my hands on the wooden table. Everybody looked at me, some with surprise, some without. "I can bloody well do it. None of you can, I doubt any of you have ever even held a proper conversation with Thomas Shelby. I can do it, and I can do it well, and if you don't think so then sod off."

My mother put a gentle hand on my arm, not restraining me, exactly, but just enough pressure to let me know that was enough. She turned to the rest of the members, eyeing them singly.

"We've already made the decision," she announced calmly. "Rose will do it. We need the information, and she's right, she's in the best position to do it." She turned to me, her weathered, lovely face serene and maternal, as if she wasn't in the meeting of an illegal transnational organization intent on throwing off the governance of the country we were living in. "Will you, then, Rose?"

I inhaled sharply through my nose, eyeing all of the faces around the table; aged, young, all intent on doing their part in our war for freedom, for independence. I hadn't done much of anything besides pass along messages and occasionally, _occasionally_ , deliver and carry out a threat; but I hadn't infiltrated a gang, I hadn't even fought on Irish soil for Irish freedom, and I couldn't pass up this opportunity to do _something_.

"Of course," I answered simply.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

 _Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum._

I was on my knees in church, a thin linen scarf wrapped around my head, hands clasped in front of my face. Almost all of my time was spent in the shop or running errands, or at meetings and delivering messages; the only few moments I got to snatch for myself were in the darkly wooded, dusty church, where I came to pray by myself every Wednesday afternoon. We came to Sunday services, too, of course; but it was too full of people, shifting and coughing and sweating. I liked to be alone, to breathe in the thick air and feel the calm stillness of the church; it was the only thing besides my mother that was the same as in Ireland.

 _Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen._

I sat back on my heels, opening my eyes and looking at the spectacular altar framed by the stained glass, lost in my own thoughts. I missed my father, the rest of my family, my home; the whole bloody reasons I was here was so that Ireland would be free, and I couldn't even be there to see it happening. I had to wait on the sidelines, gathering intelligence from the enemy, but not doing any actual _fighting_ , anything solid and tangible and measurable.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, entranced by the rich display of the church, that I didn't even notice anyone else come in until they sat directly behind me. The old wood creaked slightly as they settled into their seat, but they didn't move to their knees for prayer. I tensed slightly; whoever it was had probably come to see me, and no one in the IRA would sit quietly behind me.

Crossing myself, I stood abruptly and turned. Tommy Shelby sat behind me, looking coolly at me as ever, his cap between his hands. In the dim light of the church, his hair was so dark as to be black, and his blue eyes were shadowed and unreadable.

"Mr. Shelby," I said, trying to hide my surprise. "I didn't know you were a Catholic."

"Yes, I am," he replied. "I could say the same about you." One dark eyebrow rose slowly, challenging me.

"What? I'm Irish," I said stupidly, as if that should explain everything about me.

"I've known Irish who weren't Catholics, Rose." I felt slightly uncomfortable at hearing my name in his mouth; more uncomfortable, however, was the sensation of warmth deep in my stomach, like I was simultaneously pleased and embarrassed.

 _No good, O'Leary. Snap out of it._

"Then they weren't really Irish, then," I retorted airily, turning to cross myself before the altar before taking off. "Good day, Mr. Shelby!"

"I'm afraid we haven't agree to the terms of our agreement, Miss O'Leary."

His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I wasn't even sure why I was so eager to get away from him, other than that I was beginning to confuse work and pleasure and let the more passionate side of my nature—the side I'd struggled so long to hold down, that _needed_ to be held down in order to carry out my job properly—take over.

"No, we have not," I answered quietly. "Perhaps not here, though." I turned back to face him. It was really just that he was dangerous and handsome and clean-shaven and with the air of a gentleman, nothing more. Well, that, and he was the only man close to my age I'd held a conversation with about more than mending a suit in a very long time.

Perhaps that wasn't strictly true, but the boys in the IRA didn't count; they were brothers to me, they came round and made my mother laugh and talked to me about the girls they fancied. It was different. I'd felt invisible for so long, _tried_ to be invisible for so long; I was practically starved for attention.

"The Garrison, then?" He had risen and was facing me, a good space between us. Nearly a foot taller than me, I would guess. I immediately sized him up, if I could fight or escape if need be; I wasn't particularly big, but I was surprisingly strong and fast, and I'd had no problems looking after myself. I shook off the thought, ignoring the habit impressed into me by my mother since we'd come to Birmingham and she'd taken one good look at its hard streets.

"Sure. The Garrison."

We left the church in silence, walking side by side but still with a good distance between us. Tommy's cap was pulled over his eyes, but people still went out of their way to avoid getting in his way or purposefully said "Good day, Mr. Shelby," tipping their hats respectfully.

"So who's this Irish who's not a Catholic, then?" I asked boldly, feeling suddenly invisible again at his side. "Is she the girl you mentioned before? The one who used to work at The Garrison?"

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if to physically ward off my questions. "Yes, she was. But I don't know her. Not anymore."

I nodded with as much sympathy as possible. It was somewhat obvious that she'd meant something to him; they'd probably had a romantic relationship that perhaps didn't end very well. It wasn't any of my business, though, and I wasn't going to ask any further questions.

We continued the rest of the way in silence, until we finally reached The Garrison and pushed through its doors; the room silenced again, but this time they were looking at Tommy, not me.

"A bottle of rum, Harry," he said to the barkeep, before leading me through the door I'd seen him and his brother disappear behind before. I raised an eyebrow at the seeming gesture of confidence and followed him into a small room, dominated by a table surrounded by seats on all sides.

Shelby gestured for me to sit next to him and I did, feeling uncomfortably close and underdressed in my light summer dress. Suddenly self-conscious, I pushed the sweaty red curls off my face; summer in Birmingham wasn't too hot, generally, but the amount of smoke and sweat in the air made it feel like it was.

"Cigarette?"

"Yes, please," I said, grateful for something to calm my jumpy thoughts. He lit the cigarette and I inhaled slowly, sitting back to exhale and closing my eyes with a certain relief.

I opened them to find him looking at me through his own blueish smoke, but his eyes weren't so unreadable this time. In fact, they looked slightly pleasant, as if he'd just received some very good news.

"Well," I said, clearing my throat. "Shall we discuss terms?"

"Yes," he answered, and his expression snapped back to its usual perfect blankness. The barkeep handed over the bottle of dark rum and two glasses, and Shelby poured the liquid in, pushing one towards me. I took a careful sip; I hadn't had good rum in a long while, and I didn't want to lose my focus.

"I need you to be a distraction," he said abruptly, before he'd even set the bottle down. A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

"A distraction?" I said sharply, putting my drink down.

"Yes, a distraction."

"Mr. Shelby, I—I am not a whore. And if that's what you thought when you offered us protection then I am sorry, but—"

"I don't think you're a whore," he said, leaning forward as if to stop me from leaving. I'd pushed away my rum and half-risen, prepared to go, but he placed one hand lightly on my arm and looked at me as if willing me to trust him. Warily, I resumed my seat.

"What sort of distraction, then, Mr. Shelby?" I raised my cigarette to my lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping I looked like I wasn't going to fall for any tricks.

"We can draw a lot of attention sometimes, my brothers and me," he said. He kept his hand on my arm. Its gentle weight was a bit distracting; it felt like a restraint and, oddly enough, a comfort at the same time. "Too much attention, for our line of business. We need someone who can make us look less…"

"Threatening? Suspicious? Criminal?" I offered.

He smiled, a little one but enough to see how his whole face could transform when he was happy; from a serious, guarded man who'd seen too much of the world to a young man capable of lightness, of joy, of love. He'd taken his cap off and the dark hair fell forward over his forehead, making him look almost boyish. I resisted the urge to reach forward and brush it back, to feel how soft it was.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said, pulling me back to reality. "You wouldn't have to do anything dangerous, or illegal, just…" He shrugged, like it wasn't that important. "Help us, when we need it." He leaned back, releasing my arm, and I felt the cool rush of air where his hand had been. "Those are our terms. Your help for our protection."

 _Well, at least I won't have to do anything illegal_ , I thought to myself. _Won't have to worry about covering two fronts._

"I'll do it," I said immediately, without even thinking about it. Besides, what problems could I find in the deal? It was a simple enough request, and it'd get me exactly where I needed to be, involved in Peaky Blinders business. He'd given me the best offer I could've hoped for, and I hadn't even had to ask.

"There's, ah, one more thing," he said, staring into his rum before finishing it off with one swallow. Shelby looked directly at me then, blue eyes intent on mine, and I had to force myself not to look away from their unwavering stare.

"Yes?" I asked politely, my own hand wrapped tightly around my glass.

He put out his cigarette and leaned forward; there was only a bit of space between us to begin with, and he closed it easily. The blue eyes were softer now, looking from my eyes to my lips; I couldn't move, I could only look at him. His eyelashes were long and dark, so soft and incongruous on a man with such a fearsome reputation.

Before I could think anything else, anything reasonable, one of his hands was resting on my neck, thumb brushing my jawline. The air felt unnaturally still, and my heart was beginning to pick up its pace; I could already feel my cheeks flushing hot.

At the same moment, the door behind us opened with a crash. I started, feeling intruded upon. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, anger rushing through me for letting my guard down. _This is not the way to do it, Rose. Less rum next time._

"Mr. Shelby, we meet again." I froze, hand still at my face; the voice behind me was Irish, northern Irish. I knew all the northern Irish men in Birmingham, but this voice did not belong to a single one of them.

 _Campbell_. He had done his best to rid Belfast of the IRA. It was a failure, of course, but he had managed to maim and kill enough Irish, enough people that my family and I knew some of them. He'd arrived in Birmingham only a little after my mother and me, and we'd steered well away.

"Campbell," Tommy said softly, as if confirming my thoughts. "What are you doing in my pub?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop in. I haven't had a visit from you in a while, Mr. Shelby. I've been expecting you, nearly thought you'd been done in." A short, false laugh from behind me. "I can see I was quite wrong."

"Ah." Tommy sat back, surveying the man. I turned slowly in my seat, looking at him from the corner of my eye; he was grey-haired, big, with a silver-headed cane. _Vile creature_.

"I've been busy," Shelby said coolly, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. Mine sat in my hand, forgotten, and a few ashes fell off the tip onto the carpet below. I stubbed them out with the toe of my shoe. "What are your boys doing in my pub?"

I looked sharply through the doorframe behind Campbell; sure enough, dark-uniformed coppers were in The Garrison, looking around with an obviously affected air of authority.

"Routine inspection, Mr. Shelby." Campbell's voice was grating. "I can see you're busy, so it won't take long." I could feel his heavy gaze resting on me; as calmly as I could, I returned the stare, trying to keep my expression level and void of the spitting anger and nervousness I felt inside.

"Well, that's very kind of you."

"I'll expect to see you again before the week's through," Campbell continued. "Good day, Mr. Shelby."

He exited the small room, and I felt like I could suddenly breathe. Tommy watched him go, a look of mingled interest and distaste on his face.

"Do you, ah, know Campbell?" I said it before I could even think.

"I do," he said, still focused on the main room of the pub. The cops were nodding to each other, satisfied; they hadn't found anything. _Of course they hadn't_. "Why? Do you?"

I looked up from the small burn of ashes on the carpet to see him looking at me with renewed interest, brows furrowed intently.

"No," I answered truthfully. "But I know of him. He k—I knew a lot of people who he…" I shook my head; I'd been surprisingly startled by him, by his presence so close. So much time avoiding him and almost as soon as I met Thomas Shelby, there he was. "I just know people who know him, is all," I finished lamely.

"You're quite mysterious, Rose," he said, now looking amused. I felt a warm sensation deep in my stomach; it was fear of a long-held secret being discovered, and pleasure that he should find me something other than an open book.

"So are you, Mr. Shelby," I answered lightly.

"Call me Tommy." The words were light enough, but his tone implied a deeper meaning than what was actually expressed. Before I could reply, he was on to the next topic. "I'll need you on Sunday, d'you think you can do that for me?"

"Of course."

I paused for a moment, entranced by the sharp outlines of his handsome face, the smooth skin and beautiful eyes and full lips, so unexpected on a man of his occupation. I'd been so constrained, doing such a careful job, limiting myself and making sure not to get too close to people who didn't know my secrets. Something inside me was shifting, eager for excitement and action and _adventure_. I felt far from my home and my fight in Ireland, but maybe Shelby could make up for it.

"I'll see you Sunday then, Mr. Shelby," I said, downing the rum and standing. With a sudden rush of confidence, I reached out and brushed the dark hair off his forehead.

He didn't move to stop me.

"Sunday morning. Meet me here, at sunrise."

I nodded, and turned to go. The coppers were gone, and I thought I saw a new element of respect in the stares I got when leaving. Bursting out into the late afternoon sunshine, clouded with smoke and haze, I felt a rush of freedom and I inhaled deeply, feeling the sunlight warm on my face. Something exciting was going to happen; it _had_ to. Or I was going to make it.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

My mother raised an eyebrow when I told her the deal we'd struck, putting down her sewing with a thoughtful look. I'd been back at the shop less than fifteen minutes but I'd already told her everything—almost everything, at least. I hadn't told her that I was _sure_ Thomas Shelby had almost kissed me; then I'd have to explain that I hadn't been careful, and that I hadn't really cared at the moment. And I certainly couldn't tell her that he certainly knew I had secrets. She'd only worry; admittedly she would be right, but I just couldn't help but feel like I _wanted_ him to know he didn't know everything about me, to know I was more than just a seamstress's daughter, even if he didn't know the rest.

"A _distraction_ , Rose?" she asked, shaking her head. The afternoon light slanted through the windows and caught her red hair, framing her face with fire. "I don't much like the sound of that. And I certainly don't trust Thomas Shelby." She rose, crossing the room to place her hands on my shoulders. She was eye level with me, but I felt small suddenly, like a child, and that exhilarating moment of freedom and carelessness was gone as fast as it came. "You're to stay as inconspicuous as you can, Rosie, you hear me? I don't want any nonsense, I don't want anyone to notice you. It's hard enough to keep the boys away as it is, love." She cupped my face with her rough, worn hands. "Don't give anyone a reason to want to know more, do you understand?"

I nodded, chafing at the restrictions but already feeling the pull of the unswerving acceptance of her rules that I'd had for years. As a child I'd been petulant, always wanting things my own way. But I'd grown enough to recognize that my mother often knew best, and she always knew how to keep us from arousing suspicion—and that was of the utmost importance if we were going to be of any service to the IRA, to our country, to our people.

"I understand, Ma," I said, reaching forward and pulling her tightly against me, suddenly full of love for this woman who was so strong and fierce but also so loving and careful. "I understand."

She patted my back and returned to her sewing without another word. That was always her way; to impart instructions or lay down rules and then never mention it again, trusting me to make the right choices. And I always did.

* * *

I woke early Sunday morning, far before I was supposed to. Quietly, I got out of bed, splashing the cold water in the basin on my face. I had no idea what I was going to be doing today, but I had a feeling it would be different, to say the least.

Carefully, I dressed in one of my nicer dark blue dresses and put on worn brown heeled shoes and the crucifix necklace my father had given me, before sitting carefully in the armchair and watching the streets below, lit only by lamplight. Drunk men stumbled home, some stopping to vomit, some falling at the side of the road to close their eyes. Men and women walked past them, hand in hand and laughing, here and there taking their pleasure, and I felt a pang of suppressed jealousy that they could be so easy and open with each other.

Finally, I put my things in a small purse and kissed my mother goodbye. She murmured a smothered "be careful" in her sleep before her eyes fluttered shut again, and I left. The streets were still dark, and a few men shouted obscenities, but I was used to ignoring them. For all my mother's protection and teaching, there were a few things I had had grown accustomed to on my own.

The Garrison's lights were off and the sun was just peeking over the tops of buildings by the time I arrived. Taking a deep breath, I pushed on the door, almost surprised when it gave; I'd been half-expecting it to be barred still, for me to have gotten the wrong day.

But I never got the wrong day, and Sunday was certainly no change from the usual.

Thomas Shelby, Arthur Shelby, and various other men milled about, some drinking, some talking. They barely registered my presence; only a few short looks, and they were back to their beers and conversations. An atmosphere of nervous energy and excitement filled the room, weighing down the air.

I made my way to Tommy, who sat at a table looking blankly ahead, an untouched pint in front of him. He was clearly thinking, and I was loathe to interrupt, but I didn't know anybody else and I couldn't stand milling about feeling entirely out of place.

"Mr. Shelby?" I said softly, and he looked at me immediately. For one disturbing moment it was as if he saw right through me, but then the blue gaze focused on me, and he gave a slight smile.

"Rose," he said in greeting, gesturing to the seat across from him. I sat down carefully, tucking my dress under me.

"Ah—what are we doing today?" I looked around at the men, who were clearly itching to be gone from The Garrison. "I didn't quite know there'd be so many...people."

"We're going to London," Tommy said smoothly, bringing the beer to his lips and eyeing me across the small table.

" _London_?" My first thought was of my mother; it was highly unlikely we'd make it to London and back in one day, and she needed me at the shop. "I can't—"

"We have an agreement, Rose. Or do we not?" His voice was soft, nonthreatening, but it held a steel note of calm seriousness.

"We do," I agreed after a moment. "But I can't just leave my mother, I didn't tell her I was going to London, she'll be so worried…She's only got me, you know." Suddenly I was irritated by him, for putting me on the spot like this, for expecting me to drop everything to follow him around England and inconvenience my mother.

"Aunt Polly will take care of your mother," Tommy said. "She knows where to find her, she'll know what to say. Don't you worry."

"Polly?"

"Yes, Polly. My aunt. She's part of the business."

I nodded slowly. "Right. Well." I couldn't very well back out now, and I knew my mother would understand; I'd just been unprepared to leave her, even for a night, and I felt like a child being taken from its mother, already missing her warm, reassuring presence.

 _Oh, grow up, O'Leary_.

I had other matters to attend to, and I had a responsibility; my own feelings had to come second.

"Are we going, then?" I asked, and he gave another small smile at my impatience.

"Arthur," Tommy called out, gesturing to the tall, mustached man. He reminded me of a hawk, long limbs and bones and intimidation. "I believe we're all ready. Shall we go to London, boys?" His voice was raised enough that the rest of the men could hear, and they all shouted their assent, raising their glasses to their apparent leader—Tommy.

After swallowing the rest of their drinks, the men filed out of the pub, laughing and joking and slinging their arms around each other's shoulders, like young soldiers itching for a battle.

"How are we getting to London?" I asked suddenly, realizing the thought had never even occurred to me. I walked with Tommy, arms folded in front of me, feeling an unfamiliar awkwardness at being the only woman.

"You'll see," was all he said.

We made our way through Birmingham; people were beginning to stir, some from their beds and others from wherever they had fallen on the streets. I saw one woman prodding a still-drunk man with her broom, telling him sternly to get out of her front doorway and go home.

Finally, we reached the docks. Waiting there was the biggest car I'd ever seen, with a front cab section where the driver and a passenger would ride and a back with a large canvas covering it.

 _So, we're taking our own private transportation. How lovely._

I'd never even been in a car before, only buses and trains and ships, but I tried to keep my surprise off my face. The rest of the men climbed into the back, except for Tommy, Arthur, and a younger man—almost a boy.

After a short discussion, the two of them climbed into the back of the big car. It was just me and Tommy, and he gestured to the cab in the front.

"You'll ride with me, up here. Alright?" He had already opened the door on the passenger's side, and the thought quickly crossed my mind that it seemed like the first time he'd actually asked my assent instead of assuming compliance. With a smile to Tommy that I hoped concealed my nerves, I climbed in, tucking my skirt under me and nodding at him to shut the door. The car smelled different, new but somehow dusty at the same time, as if it had just been purchased but had already seen heavy use.

I could feel my pulse racing, heart beating fast, and I did my best to ignore it. I'd never been out of Birmingham in all my time in England, and I had no idea what to expect of London. Even more, I had no idea what the Peaky Blinders expected of _me_ once we got there. I licked my lips, pressing them together as Tommy settled himself beside me, trying to focus through the somewhat grimy windshield in front of me and ignore the fluttering in my belly. If I was going to earn the trust of Tommy, the trust of the Peaky Blinders, I had to be braver than this. I had to be able to accept the unknown and face it boldly; embrace it, even.

The first part of the drive passed in silence, until we were out in the open, swathes of green rolling by behind lines of trees. I was entranced, staring out my window at the wide fields and trying to ignore the old familiar ache of homesickness as I thought about the beautiful lush greenness of Galway, when Tommy interrupted my thoughts abruptly.

"We're going to the Eden Club tonight. We have to find out how many of Sabini's men are in there, how many we're going to need to plan for."

I turned, looking at him. He was looking at the road, profile relaxed but focused. _His lips look lovely from this angle._ A sudden flash of memory reminded me of the odd, intimate moment we'd had before Campbell had burst in, and I felt suddenly embarrassed, too close together in the tiny cab.

"Plan for? What're you planning for?" I asked, focusing on the issue at hand.

He grinned, but it wasn't like the smiles I'd seen before. This one was predatory, like a cat that has trapped its prey; I could see how intimidating, how downright frightening Thomas Shelby could be.

"We're expanding our business, to London. And we need to send a message." He turned his head, catching my eye, and I saw a flicker of excitement in the deep blue. "That we mean to take London, and no one's stopping us."

"No one being Sabini?" I asked, wondering how much was too much to ask.

"No one being Sabini," he repeated softly, eyes forward again.

"How are you planning to send such a message?" I continued, trying to keep my tone casual. I still wasn't sure what he'd guessed about me, and even if he just thought I had a few harmless secrets, I doubted he wanted me meddling in Peaky Blinders business. I had to test my limits, though, see how far I could go.

"You'll see," he said again. I let it go, instinct telling me it wouldn't be smart to push the subject, and instead asked him what his business actually was. After a pause, he began talking about horses and racing and gambling, and I let him continue uninterrupted, the morning sun and motion of the car swaying me to sleep.

* * *

I woke with a start, momentarily confused by the strange surroundings before the memories flooded back. I was in Thomas Shelby's car, and it was at least late afternoon, going by the sun's position. We'd stopped moving, and a look out my window told me we must be in London; the houses were tall and fancy, imposing, and I fought down the surge of unease that came from being a lone Irish Catholic woman in England's capital city, never mind a young woman alone with a gang apparently intent on causing trouble.

The door opened beside me, and I looked down, surprised to see Tommy.

 _Was he waiting for me, then?_

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," I said quietly, putting my hand in his as he helped me down from the cab.

"No need for apologies. I was just having a smoke."

"Right. Well. Where are we?"

"You're staying with Ada. My sister." He gestured to the house in front of us, placing a gentle but firm hand on my back and guiding me towards the door. "I'll be back at six." He paused, as if debating what to say next. "You won't be in any danger, Rose. I haven't brought you here to cause you harm." With that, he knocked on the door firmly, and it swung open to reveal a small, pretty woman with short brown hair and an annoyed expression on her face.

"Ada," he said, looking at his sister carefully, eyebrows raised at her outfit of a robe and not much else.

"Tommy," she said in a steely, soft voice.

"This is Rose O'Leary. You'll look after her, make sure she's ready to go to the Eden by six."

She appraised me and I tried to keep a level, blandly pleasant expression on my face. With a nod of her head, she indicated I could go in; stepping onto the plush carpet of the front hall, I did my best not to marvel at the luxuriousness of her home.

"Off with you, now, Tommy," she said behind me, and I turned just in time to see him standing in the doorframe, hands in his pockets, face shadowed by his cap, before she shut the door.

She turned to me, brown eyes surveying me silently. "How d'you know Tommy?" she asked, with the same abruptness as her brother.

"We have a deal," I said steadily. It was rather a lot, being in this strange new city with strange new people and no idea what was going to happen, and my nerves were jumpy. "He offered me and my mother protection, if I would help him. So I'm helping him. I think."

She laughed shortly, shaking her head.

"Your poor mother."

I swallowed, unsure of what to say and deciding it would be better to keep my mouth shut. She heaved a sigh before waving me up the stairs.

"Come on, we'll have tea. And then I need to get you ready, or Tommy'll have a fit."

Easily, she put her arm through mine and led me upstairs to a grandly decorated living room. We passed the afternoon comfortably enough; I told her the story I told everyone about why we'd left Ireland, what we were doing in Birmingham, and she told me about her son and deceased husband, waving away my sympathy when I offered it. She was as strong and steely as her brothers, and I couldn't help but feel that the Shelbys had inherited some kind of specific personality trait that made them all so unflappable.

Eventually, she made me change into a blue-green dress with thin straps going over the shoulders and matching heeled shoes, draping pearls around my neck, and pulling the ginger curls off my neck to pin up. Red lipstick was the finishing touch; Ada pulled back with a smile, letting me look at myself in the little vanity mirror. The dress brought out the green of my eyes, and I'd never worn so much makeup and jewelry. Despite the nervousness I'd felt all day, there was also a twinge of excitement at going out all dressed up, something I had experience all too little of in my life.

"Ada?" Tommy's voice, deep and loud, reached all the way upstairs to us. I hadn't even heard him come in. She rolled her eyes, apparently accustomed to such behavior, and turned to yell over her shoulder.

"We're up here, Tommy!"

I looked at the clock—five minutes to six. _How prompt_.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then he appeared in the doorway to Ada's room, wearing his usual suit but this time without a cap.

"She's ready," Ada said approvingly, stepping back to let me stand. I suddenly felt self-conscious, overdone, but Tommy looked approving, as well, with one eyebrow raised and a half smile he concealed with a hand over his mouth.

"She is," he confirmed, clearing his throat and returning his face to its usual expression. "Shall we?"

"Mm," I said, surveying the black suit and white shirt underneath, buttoned all the way up, exposing just enough of the strong, elegant lines of his neck. I couldn't keep myself from staring, at least just for a moment. "Thank you, Ada," I said after a beat, remembering my manners.

"Of course," she replied, before adding in a harder, more sarcastic tone, "Anything for Tommy."

He bowed his head in a half-mocking salute before turning to the side, allowing me to pass through the doorway. I could hear him conversing shortly with his sister behind me, and I made my way downstairs and through the entrance to see a car waiting outside; this one was smaller, more elegant, the sort of car a rich man would drive. I raised an eyebrow, silent; Tommy Shelby had more money that I had even imagined.

He cleared his throat behind me, pulling me out of my fascinated reverie. "Ready?"

I shrugged, still looking at the car and realizing I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into.

"I suppose," I answered, descending the last few stairs. I walked round the car, admiring it, and opened the passenger door for myself before realizing the polite thing would've been to let Tommy do it. Tommy himself said nothing, but returned to the driver's seat on the other side of the car. Without missing a beat, he started it up and rolled away from Ada's house. The nighttime summer air breezed warmly across my face, pulling a few curls free from the pins. The excitement I'd felt earlier was growing now, filling my stomach and spreading through my limbs, making me almost dizzy, and I felt the head rush of freedom I'd felt the other day in The Garrison, the one that had pushed me to touch that soft lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

I looked across at Tommy, his lovely profile looking forwards and the dark hair spilling forward across his face, the closely cropped sides contrasting darkly against the smooth, pale skin of his face. My nervousness was almost completely gone; whatever was waiting, whatever Thomas Shelby had in store for me, I was ready for it.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"So."

We'd been at the Eden Club for an hour and a half and hadn't said more than five words to each other. Tommy was too busy taking note of who was in the crowd, and I—well, I wasn't really doing much of anything, besides acting as some sort of cover for him, though it wasn't exactly a difficult task. Of course, that's what I was _meant_ to be doing, but I had admittedly been expecting something a bit less…dull.

Tommy looked at me, a flicker of surprise on his face at having been interrupted in his survey.

"How long will we be sitting here?" I continued, asking as politely as I possibly could.

He shrugged, taking a tiny sip of his whiskey. "Could be all night, could be an hour." One dark eyebrow raised. "Ready to be gone already, Miss O'Leary?"

I raised my eyebrows in response, finishing off my fifth champagne and realizing belatedly I probably should've been a bit less indulgent.

"No, not yet. But I'm quite ready to do something other than sit and watch everyone else have fun all evening, Mr. Shelby."

He held my stare for a moment, blue eyes flashing with suppressed amusement, before he stood and extended one hand. It was clear he wasn't used to the company of women, or at least not women who he may or may not have had a romantic interest in; despite the air of relaxed confidence, he shifted uncomfortably when I didn't immediately take his hand.

"Are you asking me to dance, then?" I asked, fingers still wrapped around the champagne glass on the table.

"I suppose I am."

The champagne had made me brave, at least more than usual, but suddenly my stomach was tight and my hands beginning to feel too warm.

 _Calm down, O'Leary. It's just a dance. You've danced plenty._

The music was slow and gentle, almost lazy. Before, it had been fast, and the garishly dressed couples had been jumping and swinging and moving all over the place; I'd been honestly taken aback, having never actually been to a club before. It may have been called the Eden, but it seemed like a nest of sin to me, uninitiated as I was into London's nightlife.

Tommy put one hand lightly on my lower back, the other holding my left hand. My fingers were small and thin next to his, but he held them with a surprising gentleness. It was so strange, the many delicate qualities of my Tommy mixed in among the harsher, rougher ones of Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders. I stared at the seemingly symbolic contrast of close-cropped hair next to the longer, softer locks, reminding myself I didn't know him half as well as I should to be thinking such things.

"I suppose you can see who's here just as well from this point of view, eh?" I asked lightly, taking a look around the room myself. I couldn't tell who anybody was; nobody registered as a part of any sort of gang, none looked suspiciously out of place or ready to cause trouble. Then again, I suppose they wouldn't; this was their club, according to Tommy, and they'd look right at home as such.

"Yes, I suppose I can," he answered, his gaze flicking quickly over my shoulder before going back to meet mine. "But I wouldn't want to be rude, now, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't. But you did come here for a reason."

We made a few turns of the dance floor in silence, Tommy alternating between looking at me and subtly studying the rest of the room, myself trying to appear at ease. It wasn't so much nervousness, but sheer excitement at having him so close, feeling the hard muscles underneath the suit and _smelling_ him, the scent of whiskey and shaving cream and something I couldn't identify—it was all combining with the champagne and the people and the lights and loud music to make me dizzy. I nearly forgot I was helping an English gang gather intel on a rival gang's club.

"Alright?" Tommy's voice brought me back to reality, and I managed to focus in on his face, looking slightly concerned. I had lost myself in the lights, and at least twenty minutes had passed.

"Yes, fine," I replied, suddenly realizing I'd tightened my grip on his shoulder. I released it, self-conscious. "I'm fine."

"You sure about that?"

I nodded in response, before we turned suddenly and I stumbled a bit. I swore under my breath, embarrassed and already blushing, earning me a couple of looks of reserved interest from other dancers and an amused expression from Tommy.

"Come on, let's get you outside," he said, releasing me and using his hand on my lower back to guide me out into the cooler night air.

I took a deep breath, immediately feeling my head clearing and calming, the swirling, dizzying feeling passing out into the fresh air. For a brief moment, I felt like a silly young girl who didn't know how to properly behave. But it passed quickly; more than anything, I felt the overwhelming rush of freedom I always felt around Tommy Shelby.

"Shall I take you home?" Tommy had sat me down by the street before seating himself next to me. He put the back of one hand to my forehead, making a soft noise of disapproval. "You're quite warm, Rose. You should be in bed."

An image of Tommy in my bed, without his clothes and the permanent mask of indifference, flashed in my thoughts. I looked away, ill at ease, out into the cobbled street where men and women were walking together, laughing and touching.

"Don't you need to go back in? We were only there a couple of hours, I know—I mean, I'm sure that's not enough time to have done everything you had to," I said.

Tommy shrugged in response to my question, lighting a cigarette. The red and orange of the match lit his bones and cast shadows on his face, making him seem otherworldly. "I've seen what I needed to see."

I leaned back, resting my weight on my palms and crossing my legs in front of me. Tommy's eyes glanced over them as he shook out the match, and I felt a twinge of pleasure in the pit of my belly. I was torn between wanting to continue the night and wanting to tuck myself into bed and let the heavy weight of sleep take me under.

"Could we walk home?" I said abruptly, looking at the inky dark sky beyond the buildings of London. "I know you brought your car, I just…" Gesturing at the unfolding night before us was my best attempt to express my thoughts.

"Alright." He was already standing, extending one hand to help me up, cigarette held lightly in the other. Trying to be as ladylike as possible, I stood, pulling the hem of my dress down with one hand and grasping onto Tommy's hand with the other.

He smiled before shaking his head and turning me away from the Club, starting down the street presumably in the direction of Ada's house. He didn't let go of my hand.

"You're really not a proper lady, are you?" he asked, voice full of amusement before offering the cigarette.

"Oi! Watch it!" I said, enjoying the lighter mood before accepting and taking a deep inhale. "I'm quite a lady, even if I don't have a big fancy house in London."

Tommy laughed at that and squeezed my hand. "Ah, I don't care if you're a lady, Rose. I never said I wanted one, did I?"

It was my turn to laugh, somewhat awkwardly. I took another long inhalation before handing him back his cigarette and releasing it slowly, feeling pleasantly calm.

"What do you want, then?" I asked boldly, glad for the champagne in my blood and the smoke in my lungs.

Tommy didn't answer, besides raising an eyebrow and trying to hide the smile evident on his face by placing the cigarette between his lips. We walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way, listening to the echoing shouts and laughter of London until we were in front of Ada's house.

Clearing his throat and turning to give me a look of mock formality, Tommy raised my hand to his mouth and kissed it, very gently, keeping his blue eyes locked on mine. His lips were soft on the back of my hand, and before I could stop myself I reached out to touch the smooth skin of his face, running my fingertips very lightly along the bones of his cheek and jaw, brushing my thumb over the full lips. He didn't move a muscle, just kept looking at me, calmly intense.

"Is this why you wanted to give me your protection?" I asked suddenly.

"Maybe." The look he gave me then was almost challenging, but hesitant, as well.

"Mm. Well, I'm glad you did," I replied softly.

"Are you, then?" He moved closer, placing one hand on my waist and pulling me towards him, the other on the side of my neck. Carefully, delicately, he pressed his lips to mine. The feeling of dizzy excitement returned fully, constricting my stomach and making me feel light as air.

It was over in a moment, and he immediately climbed the stairs to knock on Ada's door. I followed, stunned slightly but doing my best to look as calm as he usually did. Just then, though, he looked quite pleased with himself.

Ada opened the door, looking suspiciously at the two of us.

"Good night, Tommy," I said, stepping into the warm light of Ada's house and turning to see him suppressing a grin. Upstairs, she showed me to my room and then the bathroom to wash up. Feeling not at all tired, I took a bath and soaked in the warmth for half an hour, reliving the sensations of the evening. By the time I'd put on my nightgown and slipped into my bed, I could hardly believe that only this morning I'd left my home in Birmingham with no idea what to expect.

* * *

The next day was slow, sharing toast and tea with Ada and reading the paper on her couches in our robes. She'd let me borrow a silk one, and it was one of the most luxurious things I'd ever worn.

Midafternoon, she folded her newspaper quite deliberately with a little cough to get my attention.

"So, Rose," she said casually. "How was your evening with Tommy?"

"With Tommy?" I repeated stupidly. "Um, it was…nice. It was nice."

"Nice?" she repeated, one eyebrow raised in perfect imitation of her brother. "I think it was a bit more than that, love."

"Oh, well. I don't know. I think I maybe had a bit much to drink, but otherwise it was…nice." I wasn't a terrible liar, but the thought of Tommy was making me blush like a schoolgirl.

 _Grow up, O'Leary_ , I thought fiercely. _It was just a kiss, nothing more._

"I don't think Tommy'd take you all the way to London if he didn't have more in mind than a _nice_ evening at the Eden," she continued, placing her chin in her hand and eyeing me intently. "There's no need to be embarrassed, but don't keep secrets from me. I quite like hearing them, and I don't get nearly enough living out here with these London ladies."

She said the last part sarcastically, as if to say they weren't ladies at all. From what I'd seen at the Eden Club and on the walk home last night, she wasn't wrong.

"Ah, I see," I said, feeling unbelievably uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose he did, ah, kiss me, perhaps. If you must know," I finished defensively. It felt so childish to be gossiping to his sister, but it was also nice to tell someone.

She sat back, a satisfied feline smile on her face. "I knew it. I knew Tommy had his eye on you."

"Don't tell him I told you, please. I don't think he'd appreciate it. And I don't think it really meant much, so I'd rather he didn't think I was making something out of nothing."

"You're not," she replied simply. "Tommy hasn't taken up with anyone, besides that Irish whore—oh, pardon me," she said, reaching over to pat my hand. "I didn't mean that. But trust me, Tommy doesn't go round kissing any sort of girls. He's not the type."

I raised my eyebrows, shrugging. "He doesn't know me."

"No," she agreed, sitting back again to look at me appraisingly. "But I think you've got something. I can tell, and so can he."

It was my turn to scrutinize Ada, trying to figure out what she meant.

"Can he, now?" I said softly, settling back into the couch. "That's interesting."

* * *

There was a loud knock on the door and a shout from the other side a little before six, when Ada and I were sitting down to take our tea.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" she said, annoyed. I followed her to the door, where Arthur, John, and Tommy were standing in the frame, lit by the rich gold of the setting sun.

"Hello, Ada," said Arthur congenially, stepping through the doorway to pull his sister into a hug. "How are ya?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked, ignoring the pleasantries.

John raised his eyebrows at his sister; he was almost a perfect imitation of Tommy, and I wondered how long he'd worked to be like his older brother.

"We're going to the Eden," John said, following Arthur inside and into Ada's dining room. Ada followed after, arms crossed.

"In case you haven't noticed, you're in the wrong place," she said crossly.

"We need Rose," Tommy interjected. He'd been quiet, leaning against the wall at the entrance to the room.

"You need me? Tonight?" I couldn't help the confusion from my expression. "I thought it was just last night, so you could see who was at the club."

"You thought wrong," said John, grinning at me. "Tommy here thinks you'll make a lovely addition to the Peaky Blinders this evening, don't you, Tommy?"

I drew my eyebrows together, puzzled. "Addition? I'm just helping, I'm not…I'm not a _part_ of anything. How am I supposed to help you do whatever it is you're supposed to?"

"What are you doing, Tommy?" Ada said softly, looking at her brother with a mixture of intrigue and warning. "You always said this was the boys' business, that we were to stay out of it. Why is it different now?"

"What? What is boys' business?" I could deduce that it would be dangerous, but I honestly had no idea what was happening at the Eden Club tonight, and a good part of me didn't want to find out.

"They're taking the club. With violence, probably." Ada raised her eyebrows at her brother, challenging him.

"Indeed, we are," Tommy replied easily. "And I think Rose should come."

"So that's that," John concurred.

Ada turned to me, shaking her head. "You don't have to, you know."

I shrugged; I didn't have much choice. It was either this or lose my connection with the Peaky Blinders for good, and there were too many people depending on my success.

"I'll go."

* * *

I had no time to think about what I was getting myself into before we left the house, but as we walked down the street—accompanied by the rest of the men who'd traveled to London with the Shelbys—and I listened to their loud, ribald jokes and shouts of nervous, excited energy, I started to feel a pressing weight of anxiety. It wasn't that I didn't know, absolutely know that something dangerous was going to happen; it was that I couldn't be caught, I couldn't be drawing attention to myself. But it seemed like the Peaky Blinders were intent on doing just that.

"You look nervous," John said to me as we walked. Ada had dressed me in a pair of trousers she'd found in the back of her closet, combining them with a loose white men's shirt and an oversized coat, and I was uncomfortably aware of the stares I was receiving. Respectable women did not wear pants in public, and I felt like I stuck out all the more for it. I'd tried to point out that I'd be more comfortable in a dress, but Ada had insisted that it would be entirely impractical in such a situation.

"I am," I answered.

"Leave her alone, John." Tommy's voice was right beside me, and I started a little.

"Bit jumpy, eh?" John said, grinning. The toothpick in his mouth swiveled with the movement.

"You'll be fine," Tommy said to me. He was clearly excited, a look of determination and anticipation lighting his face.

"Mm," I replied noncommittally, biting my lip and warily watching the rest of the men. They all looked like him, all ready and eager, and I realized I'd never really been much more than a messenger girl for the IRA; here I was, confronted with the prospect of action and I was so nervous I was almost shaking.

Absentmindedly, I cracked my knuckles and shook out my hands, trying to release the tension. We'd reached the Eden Club—I could've sworn the walk was twice as long last night—and they didn't slow down a bit. By now, it was dark, and with their coats flapping behind them in the night wind and their caps pulled low, they looked so intimidating even I didn't quite feel safe.

The doorman was reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette, doors wide open behind him so that all the dancers could be seen, and I felt a prick of guilt that their nights would be ruined. Dropping the paper and cigarette, he reached out a hand, tried to stop one of the Peaky Blinders who immediately hit him over the head. The man slid to the floor as the other doorman stepped up and I watched his body go limp, feeling my throat tighten and the adrenaline rush begin to flood my veins.

 _Now or never, O'Leary, now or never. Don't give in now._

Arthur stopped and turned, yelling at the men streaming into the club on either side of him. "Right, boys! Let's go!" he shouted, hair mussed and eyes wild, and I suppressed the sudden rising fear, sour in the back of my throat.

I followed them in, almost in a daze; there were screams already, female screams, as Peaky Blinders, dark against the vibrant outfits surrounding them, pushed through the crowd, throwing punches and slamming people aside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall ginger Blinder smash a bottle over someone's head before throwing another man into a table.

 _What the fuck did Tommy bring me here for?_ I thought with sudden violence, instincts fighting between joining the chaos and running to hide. I'd known it would be violent, but I was watching a destructive chaos I couldn't predict unfold before me and I had no idea what to do.

Hiding from it won out, and I pressed myself against the wall, angry hot tears welling in my eyes. Arthur came through the doorway, dangerous and predatory, smashing a bottle against the face of the first man he saw and drawing blood. Tommy was in the middle of the fight, slashing his cap through the air and cutting open a man's face, and I realized it must be a weapon. Everything about him was prepared to fight and kill. Everything about him was a weapon.

Things were moving in slow motion and Arthur was yelling now, incomprehensible. I looked at Tommy, suddenly realizing that perhaps it was me who didn't know him, and I caught his gaze, blue eyes dark in the dim lighting, black hair falling across his forehead, the handsome face intent on me. He bit his bottom lip, momentarily distracted and still looking at me, before turning away towards Arthur's loud voice.

 _Fucking hell, Shelby_ , I thought angrily. He'd brought me here, he knew this would happen, and maybe he thought I'd be used to it, maybe he was trying to figure out what sort of a person I was, what I was hiding—but it was too much, and I felt overwhelming anger at him for pulling me into the middle of this insane violence without at least preparing me for it.

A little part of me reminded me that I'd known this wouldn't be a polite conversation between gentlemen, I'd known it would be bloody. This was what I wanted, this was what I felt I had to become—feared, a fighter, someone who could use their physical power over other people.

 _But not like this, not for some stupid gang rivalry. For Ireland. For my people._

What the bloody hell was Tommy fighting for?

I pushed myself from the wall, heartbeat racing, and made my way through the sea of people, headed to the middle of the dance floor to do God knows what, before I saw Arthur throw down a bloodied man in a suit in the center of the musician's stage and froze.

"Due to my razor blade and a few complaints from the neighbors about the terrible fucking music," began Arthur in a shout before pausing to pull the bloodied man up before the microphone. "Do you want to tell them or should I?" The man didn't respond, face smashed and dripping, other than reaching an arm up behind him towards Arthur, who ignored him. "This place is under new management," he continued loudly, throwing the man aside, "by order of the Peaky Blinders."

I swallowed thickly, rooted to the spot. The club was silent now, except for a few muffled groans and a few whimpers. It was over already. Arthur smiled, stepping back from the microphone and looking satisfied with himself. Of its own accord, my mouth curled into a grimace of disdain, eyes narrowed.

A small cough sounded beside me and I jumped, turning to see Tommy with his cap back on and the blue eyes calmly dangerous, face expressionless.

"What?" was all I could blurt out angrily, practically hissing at him. "I'm not—what is this? What was that?"

"You agreed to come, Rose," he said slowly. "You knew it'd be violent."

"Fine, I knew. You still could've prepared me, Shelby. I had _no_ idea—" I stopped short, taking an almost panicked breath, conflicted between the knowledge that I was smart enough to know what I was getting myself into and the fact that living it, seeing such destructive viciousness right in front of you was unavoidably shocking.

Tommy took a deep breath and stepped back from me, surveying the damage he and his boys had done to the club. It was so changed from last night's warm pleasant elegance, with broken glass and smashed tables now everywhere and injured, groaning bodies scattered.

"You can leave," he said finally, although his voice wasn't as sharp as it had been. "This is what we do."

I ran my hands through my hair, looking around at the result of the Peaky Blinders doing business. I took a deep sigh, shaking my head. "No, I can't."

One of the men shouted "Mr. Shelby, sir!" and he moved to go, pausing to watch me. Maybe to see if I would run, now. With a tenderness entirely at odds with what I'd just witnessed, he reached out and pushed a tendril of hair out of my face, fingers holding my chin gently and shadowed eyes meeting my stare before he turned resolutely and crossed the room to converse with the other men.

Confused and tired from the passing adrenaline rush, I sat heavily in a chair and rested my cheek on my folded arms, staring at the destroyed beauty. I felt suddenly alone in unfamiliar territory, and I repeated prayers to myself in an effort at comfort until my eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord.

* * *

"He wanted to see if you could handle it, you know." Ada and I had been sitting quietly in the candlelight; she'd given me a full glass of whiskey when I got home, having been woken by Tommy and driven home in silence. "All of it."

"Why?" I said, tipping in a mouthful of the golden liquor and swallowing it quickly, feeling the immediate warm tingling spreading and relaxing my clenched muscles.

Ada shrugged. "You've got potential, I suppose. But Tommy doesn't stand for weakness."

I nodded, silent. I doubted he thought I was anything but weak after this evening, but I could already feel the shock of witnessing unadulterated violence fading. Next time, I wouldn't be caught off guard. Next time, I'd be ready.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

I was nearly silent on the journey home, trying and failing to ignore the fact that although Tommy Shelby was certainly adding change to my previously stagnant life, it wasn't adding up to be the glamorous adventure I'd stupidly thought it would be. For once, he kept up a stream of conversation, telling me more about, and I was struck again by how different this gentle horse loving Tommy was from the man who'd sliced another man's face open with a razor-edged cap last night. Neither of us brought it up.

Arthur and John had been as jolly as ever this morning, Arthur staying behind to look after the new property of the Peaky Blinders. He was the truly dangerous one, I was beginning to think, a man so full of wild mischief and rage it couldn't possibly be contained. He may have been the oldest brother, but he was too rash and irresponsible, and he certainly didn't have Tommy's sharp mind.

After what seemed like endless hours, the familiar lines of the city of Birmingham came into view and I took a deep breath at the comforting sight.

"Missed home that much, did you?" Tommy asked. "So did I."

"I missed my mother," I said softly, running my hands over the rosary I'd been holding all morning. My father had given it to me before we'd left for Birmingham, and I always kept it with me.

Tommy nodded, eyeing the beads. "I'm sure she's alright. Aunt Polly is looking after her, she would've rung if anything happened."

I made a small noise of assent. To be honest, I didn't know Tommy's aunt, and I didn't entirely trust her looking after my mother's safety.

He parked the huge car in the same spot we'd found it, giving a cheerful farewell to the rest of the men. After they'd departed he gave me his arm, like the gentleman he sometimes liked to be, and I accepted his offer to walk me home. I was still a bit uneasy from the night before, but I wasn't reeling with shock anymore. I'd accepted it, I'd been initiated. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew what to expect, and that was enough.

The morning air was summery and warm, and the familiar banging industrial sounds of Birmingham were welcome. Easier than I'd expected, the darkness that had been haunting my thoughts since last night slipped away, and I could understand a bit better how the duality of Thomas Shelby could exist, how he could do what he thought necessary for his family and his men and go on the next day as if nothing had changed.

When we turned onto my street and saw an unfamiliar woman standing outside of my mother's shop, smoking a cigarette and straightening up when she saw us, the mood of the morning vanished and a heavy weight settled uncomfortably in my stomach.

"Pol," Tommy said in greeting, voice wary. "Couldn't wait to meet me at home?"

She was older, with curly dark hair and a beautiful face similar to Tommy's, the same fine bones. Hers was altered significantly, however, by a worried, thoughtful expression that was so unlike Tommy's indifference.

Her bluntness was no different, however.

"Your mother's gone," she said, addressing me. "Came by this morning, and she wasn't in the shop."

"Maybe she's upstairs," I said uncertainly, my mind going blank. The woman heaved a sigh, shaking her head at me.

"She's not upstairs," she said, northern accent making her voice fast and strange in its upward surges. "The neighbors saw her taken away."

I pulled away from Tommy, moving closer to the woman and holding her gaze. She was taller than me, but it didn't matter, I'd never felt intimidated by anyone because I was smaller than them.

"Taken away?" I said tightly. "By who?"

Her eyes flickered over my shoulder briefly to look at her nephew before the brown eyes settled squarely back on mine. "Inspector Campbell."

* * *

"Rose!"

Tommy's voice was yelling after me, but I ignored it completely. This had nothing to do with him, and I didn't need his bloody help, much as he may think he was the only person in Birmingham who could give me and my mother protection.

 _Even though he failed at it._

I had seen red when his aunt had said that name, that horrid name of that evil bastard, and I'd turned, intent only on getting to Mike O'Neill, to _someone_ who could actually help. Intriguing and handsome as Tommy Shelby was, I didn't trust him well enough for this, and I needed someone I trusted entirely at the moment.

"Rose," he said again, catching my arm and spinning me to face him, face oddly unguarded, blue eyes guileless for once.

"It's too late, Tommy," I said, surprised at the even tone of my own voice. "Can't you see it? You failed, you and your men _failed_ , and my mother's missing. I don't bloody need you now." I didn't bother pointing out that the IRA had failed to protect us, too. I'd settle that score when the time came.

He nodded with a defensive shrug. "Alright, I failed. Fair enough. But if you want to find your mother, I'm the only one who can help you."

I laughed shortly, turning to go.

"I know Campbell, Rose," he said, and I was suddenly reminded of the afternoon in his pub when the inspector had barged in with his men in tow.

"Maybe," I said tightly, turning to face him. "But I don't think he'll just give you back my mother. I don't know why—" I stopped suddenly, feeling the hot tears that I'd been holding back since yesterday filling up in my eyes, burning my throat. I didn't want anyone to see me cry, least of all Thomas bloody Shelby, and not in the middle of the street where all the neighbors would see, too.

Tommy took a step towards me, but I'd already wiped my eyes and gotten myself under control. I didn't want his comfort, I wanted my mother.

"D'you trust me, Rose?" he asked, voice careful and low.

I shrugged, thoughts racing and clashing and making it impossible to think. He _was_ a powerful man in Birmingham, and he probably could do _something_ , something that even the IRA couldn't. We had no leverage, no way to get Campbell to cooperate, but maybe Tommy did. I didn't have much of a choice, anyways; either let Tommy Shelby help me and keep the act together or refuse him, and maybe make him suspicious of where else I was going to get help. I didn't know his relationship with Campbell, but I didn't entirely trust that he'd keep my secret if he really knew it.

"Fine," I said, fixing him with a hard stare despite my still damp eyes and running nose. "You bring her back to me, Shelby. You owe me that."

* * *

Tommy deposited me into the care of his aunt, and I chose not to put up a fuss; I'd rather he knew where to find me as soon as possible in case of any news. My nerves were catching up with me, though, and by the time we'd gotten to the grey, dusty street and through the door of the Shelby home, I was shaking, albeit almost imperceptibly.

His aunt gave me a hard stare before making me a cup of tea with a tot of rum and then attending to her own business. I sat quietly and had my tea, trying not to think too hard.

The sun was filtering through the murky windows, illuminating every dust particle floating in the air, and I had gotten through four cups of rum-infused tea by the time Tommy returned to the house, flanked by John, who nodded briefly in my direction before going to find Polly.

"So?" I said, unmoving.

Tommy pressed his lips together, not answering as he pulled off his cap and crossed the room to sit beside me.

"I need to do a few things first," he said eventually, "and then Campbell will cooperate."

His voice was so solid and deep, so reassuring, and I had to keep myself from simply believing everything he said, the rum infusing me with an unrealistic sense of hope. I barely stopped myself asking what exactly it was he had to do, but I was smart enough to know that if it was for Campbell, I likely wouldn't want to find out.

Instead, I ran my hand over my mouth, looking away and nodding slightly. Despite his apparent confidence that he would succeed, I'd been hoping for better news, for more.

 _Well, this certainly is not how the adventure was supposed to go._

"You'll be staying with Pol tonight." Tommy's voice interrupted my thoughts, and it took me a moment to comprehend what he said. When I did, though, I couldn't help hiding my disbelief.

"What? You think because my mother was _abducted_ this morning I am going to stay overnight in a strange house with you? In the bloody Shelby house, Tommy? Do you think that's going to help?"

"Your home isn't safe," he replied steadily. "I don't trust Campbell, but no one can harm you while you're here. I still owe you protection."

I narrowed my eyes a bit, memories of standing pressed against a wall while violence raged around me flashing in my mind. "You didn't seem quite too preoccupied with protecting me last night, Tommy."

"You didn't need it," he answered confidently. I ignored the small surge of pride at the idea that he thought so highly of me.

"Or my mother this morning," I continued bitterly. He just pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn't need to tell me again that the protection of the Peaky Blinders had failed her; we both knew it.

I sat for a moment, considering; I'd planned to go to Mike and the rest of our friends, tell them what had happened and see what they could do. But I couldn't very well tell him that, he'd be sure to know their names if he'd had any dealings with the IRA, and I wasn't entirely sure he hadn't. If my mother's abduction by a decidedly anti-IRA official hadn't raised suspicions in Tommy's mind yet, that would be sure to.

I was at a loss of what to do and unable to think fast enough to come up with a believable story, and Ihe wasn't wrong in saying that his house was probably the safest place to be at the moment. "Fine."

* * *

Tommy and John went to The Garrison when night fell, leaving me and Aunt Polly in the kitchen eating a stew in uncomfortable silence. I couldn't stomach much, just pushed some potato and meat bits around with a spoon and tried to look like I had too much on my mind for conversation. Which, in truth, I did, but I was still uncomfortably aware of her stare.

"How well d'you know Tommy?" she asked finally, and I looked up to see her looking severely at me, one eyebrow raised.

 _Is that a family trait, or something?_

"Um, we made a deal, for protection," I said lamely. She had a much more intimidating air than almost any other Shelby, even Tommy. "So I've agreed to help."

"With what?" The tone was sharp.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I really don't."

Polly sat silently for a moment, then shook her head. "He'll never learn, that one."

"Learn what?" I asked, unthinking.

She looked at me levelly, lighting a cigarette and then exhaling a stream of smoke emphatically. "Not to mix business and pleasure, that's what."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

She laughed, short and cold. "D'you know about Grace?"

I shook my head, feeling unpleasantly intrusive but unwilling to stop the conversation there, either.

"He loved her," she said, businesslike. "And she betrayed him."

"The Irish whore?" I said slowly, remembering Ada's blunt words.

"Yes. She was a Protestant, father killed by the IRA. She worked for Campbell."

At the sound of the name, bile rose suddenly in the back of my throat. I clenched my nails into my palms, the feeling of dread that had seized me this morning back again without warning. Polly noticed, but she didn't move; I supposed that she was used to such dramatic flares of emotion, familiar with an unpredictable life in which dark things happened. Probably, she was familiar with the kind of violence that had shocked me last night, and sat before me now with the lines of a rough, brutal life etched into her face.

"Who are you working for?" she asked after a moment.

I looked at her, the brown eyes hard, and I thought fleetingly that she could see right through me, right into my soul.

"My mother," I answered with just a hint of defiance. It wasn't a lie, not really.

She exhaled smoke in a thin trail, eyes never leaving mine. I was actually beginning to feel my palms growing sweaty under her cool stare. No matter how intimidating Tommy or his brothers were, I was beginning to believe his aunt could achieve everything he had with just a look.

"Are you Protestant?"

"No."

"Catholic?"

"Yes."

The kitchen was silent for a minute, no noise except the clink of my spoon against the bowl.

"I hope you're smarter than she was." She paused, tapping the cigarette lightly into an ashtray. "For all our sakes."

* * *

Polly showed me to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom, and I lay awake on the bed trying to calm my rushing thoughts. I had no other clothes than my daywear—I hadn't packed anything for London and I'd borrowed everything from Ada—so I eventually just fell asleep in my dress.

I woke again in the middle of the night, unable to sleep heavily out of fear for my mother; whatever was happening to her, I was sure it wasn't good, and I was equally as sure she wasn't sleeping in a nice warm bed like I was. A small tear trickled down my face, dripping over the ridge of my nose and onto the mattress. I didn't even notice I wasn't the only one in the room anymore until I heard a hoarse, jagged intake of breath and started, turning towards the noise.

Tommy had been sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room. His eyes were open now, though, staring widely at nothing. Beads of sweat covered his face, chest heaving as he came back to reality and looked around, as if figuring out where he was. He rubbed his eyes, dropping his head to his hands, and I doubted he'd even realized I was awake.

"Tommy?" I asked quietly. He looked up sharply, staring at me as if I was the last thing he'd expected to see.

"Just a dream," he said finally, after looking at me with that unsettling gaze. The only light was that of a little lamp, and it threw shadows over his face, made it seem like the blue eyes were looking at me out of some sort of eerie, haunted darkness. "Just a dream."

I recognized the signs of a nightmare; I had my own, but they dragged me under, kept me from waking up and locking me into a world of relived horrors. I had no idea what Tommy could be dreaming about, but it was clearly enough to shake him, and that scared me somewhat, that such a solid person could be tormented by his dreams.

Usually, my mother was the person to wake me up from a nightmare and stroke the hair off my forehead, and I felt sorry that Tommy had no one to turn to for comfort. Sighing, I shifted over in the small bed.

"Come here," I said, gentle but firm.

He shook his head. "I'm alright. Go back to sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous, you'll never get a proper sleep in that." I didn't want to embarrass him, making him feel like I was trying to mother him, but I felt too guilty letting him sit in the hard chair while I took up what was presumably his nice, comfortable bed.

He sighed, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long before standing and crossing the short distance to the bed, slowly sitting down with his back to me. The absence of the usual suit—replaced by a soft, thin white shirt that allowed me to see every curve of his muscles—made him seem almost vulnerable. Instinctively, I placed my hand on his shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. Apparently it was, because he covered my hand with his own and in a smooth motion so fast I barely registered it, he leaned back, lying his head on my shoulder and his arm across my stomach.

I stayed perfectly still, listening to the soft sounds of his breathing, and watched him sleep, dark eyelashes over the strong cheekbones. He looked almost innocent like this, mouth slightly open and the defensive guarded look gone. I felt a deep pang of regret that he couldn't always be like this, that he made himself hard and vicious to the world around him. Another tear escaped from the corner of my eye, and this time I couldn't tell if it was for myself, my mother, or Thomas Shelby, asleep in my arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Sorry it has taken a while to update, but thanks to everyone who reviewed! They've been very helpful and make my day!**

* * *

7.

Tommy sat in his office, trying to pay attention to the business he had to attend to but failing miserably. He'd fulfilled his end of the deal with Campbell today—gone down to the docks and shot dead an Irishman, whether he was IRA or pro-treaty, Tommy had no idea—and the greedy bastard was still stalling, refusing to give him even the smallest amount of information on Rose's mother unless he offed another nameless, faceless man in London. Of course, Tommy hadn't told Campbell his reasons for wanting the woman back, just simply saying it was Peaky Blinders business and she should be released into his care, but the shrewd man was getting all he could out of his current advantage.

He'd woken in Rose's arms the morning after that first night she'd been in the Shelby home, the weak morning sunlight lighting on the red hair and waking him early. It had been a week and a half since then, and they'd slept in the same bed every night since, even though they hadn't even kissed since that night outside Ada's.

Tommy didn't know why he'd gone into the seamstress' shop that day; it was simply the result of curiosity and boredom. He'd never seen the shop before, and he liked to know what was happening in Birmingham. And then he'd heard her voice, with the Galway accent so like Grace's but somehow softer and gentler, more musical. What made him invite her to The Garrison, made him want her so badly to agree to striking a deal with him, made him bring her to London was the result of some sort of impulse he didn't know what to do with.

He'd been almost as reckless as Arthur in London, bringing her to the Eden Club to make her see who he really was, what being Thomas Shelby meant. He'd wanted to test her, crack that young, careless, easy happiness; there'd been glimpses of something deeper, something hard that reminded him of himself in her eyes every so often, something that told him there was more behind the pretty face and guileless green eyes than she let on. She was hiding _something_ , and he'd told himself that bringing her to the Eden, forcing her to face the reality of the Peaky Blinders would somehow prove that to him, prove she'd seen more in life than the inside of her mother's shop.

The expression on her face that night was horrified and disgusted, but she hadn't mentioned it again—neither of them had—and he didn't know what to think. At first he'd felt guilty, like he might have been mistaken, might have ruined her innocence. But that steeliness that wasn't immediately obvious began to show more and more after that night, and Tommy knew he hadn't been wrong. There was something broken and rough about her, but something so wholesome, as well.

Tommy sighed, listening to the muted sounds of Pol and John arguing outside the office door, rubbing his eyes as if that would help him focus. He hadn't been interested in anyone since Grace, and he didn't care to go through all that again, but it was like Rose had bewitched him—he shouldn't have been spending so much time on her mother, a single woman who had slipped through the cracks, but he'd already killed for her. A letter had come from Poughkeepsie, New York, and he'd put it right in the fire without reading it. Grace was in New York, and Rose was here, in his house, under his protection. And, truthfully, thoughts of Grace were fading, replaced by the warm, comforting immediacy of Rose.

* * *

A week and a half later, with no news of my mother from anyone, I was sitting in the previously off-limits back room of the Shelby home with Polly, John and his dark-haired wife Esme, and Tommy. I hadn't felt like seeing anyone, and I had barely left the Shelby home except for a few times to visit Alice and Mike.

I had been at a loss of what to say to Alice; I'd met her only a year ago, since my mother had strictly forbidden me from socializing with anyone outside the Birmingham Irish she knew. And I hadn't, until she'd come into the shop with her mother and we chatted for nearly half an hour. After that, I'd seen her at the market and almost everywhere else around town. Despite my protestations, one afternoon she'd taken me back to hers for tea, and I'd seen her at least once almost every week since. We never spoke of anything important—I couldn't really tell her much about myself, of course—but it had been nice having a girl my own age to talk to, even if it was superficial.

My story now was that my mother was in Ireland visiting relatives, and I would be staying with friends; I had almost avoided her entirely, but I felt guilty for not seeing her lately, having been caught up in my own little world. Besides, I'd reasoned, she might go by the shop and notice something was amiss, and then she'd be really worried.

She'd offered for me to stay with her, and when I declined she'd pressed her lips together but said nothing. We hadn't discussed the Peaky Blinders since she'd warned me off them and I'd ignored her advice; I knew someone had probably told her that I'd been associating with Tommy Shelby, but she never asked about it and I never volunteered any information about myself, as usual. I'd wanted to tell her everything, about why I was actually in Birmingham and what I was doing with the Peaky Blinders and why, and that my mother had gone _missing_ , but I couldn't. After half a cup of tea, I;d left to go to Mike's, overwhelmed with the need to tell someone who actually knew me what was going on.

Mike had just grimaced and swore and promised he'd do what he could. He'd insisted on the continued importance of my getting closer to the Shelbys, though, and insisted I stay with them. I knew he couldn't do much, but being able to talk to someone and not have to hide anything about myself, to carefully pick words before I said them so I didn't give any secrets away was a small comfort. I'd taken his advice and gone back to the Shelbys, trusting him to do what he could, but it was beginning to wear at me, the waiting; Tommy hadn't told me anything else since that first day, and it was getting harder and harder to sleep. I felt like I was nearing a breaking point, that I would eventually come up against some sort of wall, and it was making me snappy and irritable. Even John was beginning to look more warily at me, but I didn't even care; I just wanted my mother back.

"Rose!" Polly's voice pulled me back to the present, and I realized she'd already said my name several times.

"What?" I answered, aiming for politeness but falling just short.

She clicked her tongue. "Pour her a whiskey," she ordered Esme, who obeyed silently.

"Irish," I said, and Polly sighed exasperatedly.

"Going to participate now? Good. We can't all sit round doing nothing, waiting for Campbell." She paused, watching me take a drink. "You and Tommy are going to London."

"What?" I asked numbly. I wasn't even upset; there was no need to be. Polly Shelby was intimidating, alright, but not even she could send me away from Birmingham while my mother was still the prisoner of a murderous bastard, no matter what she did to me.

"Jesus, Pol," Tommy said, a thin note of anger in his own voice. He'd stayed out of the conversation until now, sitting back in a chair and smoking a cigarette. He leaned forward now, putting it out in the ashtray on the table between us.

"What?" Polly demanded defensively. "We're running a business, Tommy, not a charity. Don't you forget. We've other things to think of, no matter what Campbell's done."

"I'm aware of that, Pol." Tommy's stare was hard.

"London?" I interjected, ignoring Polly.

"I've got to help Arthur with a few things," Tommy explained. "Change of scenery might do you some good. And I don't trust Campbell to keep his promises."

I shook my head slightly, making a noise of refusal. I couldn't leave Birmingham, not now when everything in my life was balanced so precariously and I hadn't even heard my mother's voice in over a week. The thought made my throat burn and I swallowed hard, determined not to cry again.

Polly saw and sighed, leaning over to place one hand on my cheek. Her dark eyes, normally so hard, were oddly maternal, sympathetic but firm just like my own mother's, and I couldn't look away.

"We'll find her, Rose," she said softly. "She's under the protection of the Peaky Blinders and the Shelbys. We'll find her." She patted my cheek gently and then sat back, looking round. "That's settled, then. Tommy, you go to London with Rose. John and I will stay here and mind the business."

John nodded; he hadn't said much, either, and it seemed he had no choice in the matter. I breathed in deeply, seeing that I didn't either, and nodded in my own silent agreement. I had to trust Polly and Tommy, to trust that the Shelby name and the reputation of the Peaky Blinders would bring my mother home to me.

 _At least London can't be any more unsettling than being here, O'Leary. At least you know that._

* * *

We both stayed with Ada this time, and she said nothing, only raising her eyebrow when Tommy told her we'd be in London for a week or two. The afternoon passed in a haze of conversation, Ada scolding her brother for taking the risk of expanding his business into London, Sabini's territory, and then filling us in on the London gossip while asking about old friends in Birmingham. When dusk was nearing, Tommy took off for the Eden Club to go over the account books with Arthur. I sat quietly with Ada, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a book in the other. I tried to lose myself in the words, but it wasn't working, and I eventually put it down, sipping the liquor and trying to let the burning taste clear my mind of the panic and dread that had been clouding it for the past few days.

I must have drifted off, because I woke with a start to the sound of low voices outside of Ada's parlor. The heavy doors were shut and I was alone in the room, stretched out on one of the dainty red velvet couches, glass still in hand. Quickly, I sat up, trying to compose myself just in time for Tommy to open the door.

"Is it late?" I asked, my voice a bit too loud and my head swimming from the liquor and the sudden change in position.

"It's only eleven, Rose," Tommy answered, shutting the door behind him.

"Oh." I stifled a yawn. "How was Arthur? Eden?"

Tommy laughed softly, crossing the room to pour himself a whiskey. "Oh, Arthur's in paradise, alright. London's doing him good."

"Oh," I said again. I didn't need clarification on how, exactly, London was doing Arthur any good.

Tommy sat next to me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and I guessed he'd done a bit more than visit Arthur and balance some account books, but I didn't ask.

He cleared his throat, taking a deep sip of whiskey. "How are you?" He carefully kept his voice neutral, looking into the glass he held instead of me.

"Alright." I didn't know if he really expected me to tell him about the heavy fear and desperation that I couldn't get rid of, the nauseating dread that flooded me every time I remembered that my mother was in the hands of Campbell, but I wouldn't have told him, anyway. I wasn't raised in America, where you could say everything you felt; I was raised in Ireland, and being so open with your emotions meant softness in the head. After staying with the Shelbys, I guessed Birmingham was pretty similar.

Heavy silence hung over the room for a minute, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Tommy was the first to speak again.

"What do you dream about?" he asked suddenly, catching me off guard as soon as I'd begun slipping back into my own thoughts. For a moment I didn't even register the question, it sounded so strange coming from him.

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"Your dreams," he repeated, and I felt him looking at me. "Every night, you toss and turn. Sometimes you say things."

I tensed, the hairs on my neck going up at the thought that I'd said something that might betray me and my mother in my sleep.

"What do I say?" I asked, keeping my voice deliberately calm and concentrating on the pattern of the rug below my feet.

"Nothing, really. At least, nothing that makes any sense to me."

"I dream about Ireland," I said after a moment, my voice coming out higher than I meant it to. "About my home. About the Black and Tans."

I swallowed hard at the thought; I didn't talk about these things out loud. I didn't need to—my mother had witnessed what I had, the homes being burned, the innocent men and women murdered, the atrocities that had finally pushed our family to fight. Suddenly I felt like a traitor to my people, the people I'd left behind in Ireland living in poverty and oppression, fighting for themselves and each other while I pretended I was doing something important sitting on a fancy sofa in a grand house in England, in London no less. I took a deep breath, curling my trembling hands into fists and placing them in my lap.

 _Calm down, O'Leary. You can worry about the rest when Ma's home, you don't have to right now. Calm down._

"What are your nightmares about, then?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

"France." He paused, tipping the golden liquid back into his mouth. I looked at him, but he didn't betray any emotion. "The war."

He said it matter-of-factly, but I'd seen him in the midst of his nightmares. I couldn't imagine him in the middle of a war, spattered with blood and knowing he could die at any second, feeling the icy fear I'd felt seeing my neighbors and relatives beaten and killed before my very eyes. Tears welled in my eyes and I wiped them away quickly; my memories haunted me enough in sleep, I didn't need them hanging over me while I was awake, too.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing the words weren't enough.

Tommy nodded, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. "I know."

He was so composed, always, except in those few moments when he woke up covered in sweat and shaking, looking blankly around as if he didn't know where he was, as if he expected to be somewhere other than his bedroom. And now, with his forehead in his hand and his eyes closed against his own memories, it felt almost like he could be as broken and afraid sometimes as I was, not just the hard man who never flinched from anything.

Reaching out, I grasped his free hand in mine and pulled it to my lips, pressing a kiss to the rough knuckles. He turned to look at me, head still in hand and one eyebrow raised, but he didn't pull away, and the pressure of his hand on mine suddenly felt like the only thing keeping me from being adrift in England, alone without my mother and with nowhere to go that felt safe anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

The next few days passed uneventfully, at least for me—Tommy had been out of the house with the Peaky Blinders, doing God knows what—until one afternoon Ada put down her paper with a thud and announced we were going out.

"Where?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Out," Ada replied shortly. "I don't bloody know, but I can't sit in this house for one minute more, I don't care if Tommy thinks we should stay. I'll leave a note for him, don't you worry about that." She was already at the door, turning back to snap her fingers impatiently at me. "C'mon! Let's go!"

I considered staying behind, but only for a moment; truthfully, I was sick to death of sitting around doing nothing. I felt exactly the same way I had before I'd met Tommy and was nothing more than an IRA errand girl, waiting for someone else to give me something to do or somewhere to go.

"Right," I said with certainty, getting up to follow Ada. After putting on my shoes and pulling on a sweater to ward off the early evening chill, I followed her down the stairs and out the door, the relatively fresh air clearing my mind and somewhat dulling the edge of the constant tension that tightened my stomach and made my eyes well up with tears whenever I thought about my mother.

I paused while Ada knocked on a neighbor's door and asked her to watch her son. I had barely seen the boy, and I never asked about his father. If Ada wanted me to know, she'd tell me, I'd reasoned. We really didn't know each other that well, having only spent a relatively short amount of time together, and I'd been too preoccupied with my own worries on this trip to ask about hers.

"Ready, then?" Ada's chipper voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I smiled as brightly as I could.

"Ready," I replied, falling into step beside her as we made our way down the streets of London.

We didn't really do much of anything, just stopped in a few shops as dusk fell and the street lamps were lit, but I didn't mind. It was nice to be out, with strange sights and smells and sounds to distract me, and I had actually genuinely laughed more than once by the time Ada was at last ready to go home. We were just leaving a hat shop to go home, but Ada paused to talk with a few men who recognized her. I went outside, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the building, trying to keep my thoughts at bay for a moment longer and enjoy the peace of mind I'd had this evening for as long as I could. After a few minutes, when Ada still hadn't joined me, I began to make my way slowly down the street, restless.

Halfway down, two heavy, dark-haired men blocked my way. One stepped forward, putting himself directly in front of me and addressed me in a heavy Italian accent.

"Rose O'Leary?"

I froze, staring at the broad face in front of me. My first instinct was to step back, but I stood still, mind racing to try and figure out what was happening.

"No," I answered him, afraid they'd been sent by Campbell, by the English government, by someone who'd finally figured it out.

He stepped forward and easily slapped my face before I could even register his movement. My head snapped to the side and pain flashed hot on my cheek. My muscles tensed, fingers clenching into fists automatically at my sides

"Your friend broke the rules," the other one said menacingly.

"What?" I replied stupidly, mind gone blank. "What friend?"

The one who'd slapped me had moved around to my back, and he grabbed me suddenly from behind, forcibly moving me towards a car a little ways off. Neither of them answered me.

"Me and _my_ friend need a bit of female company," the one holding me said, almost humorously. "Let's go for a drive."

I panicked and despite telling myself to stay calm, I struggled, kicking out at random but predictably getting nowhere. That only made me panic more, though, and as the panic grew despite my efforts I let out a scream as I was forced into the back of the car.

Inside, a rough blindfold was tied tightly around my eyes. The jolting car moved through London for what seemed like an eternity, until it finally came to a short stop and I was pulled out, manhandled again—this time with less resistance on my part—and forced into a chair, hands bound behind my back and blindfold ripped off. A few of my hairs ripped out as well, and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.

"So." A whining, abrasive voice with a soft London accent sounded from my left. A small, slender man with black, slicked back hair and a thick mustache appeared in front of me, apparently the owner of the voice. "You're Thomas Shelby's whore."

 _So it's the Peaky Blinders, then. Alright._

"Sabini," I breathed softly once I'd figured it out, keeping my eyes on him. He stopped, looking at me quizzically.

"Don't say my name," he said. "Jesus." Sabini turned, gesturing a burly man forward. "Georgie, get my name out her mouth."

I pressed my lips together as if that could take it back, but not before Georgie followed his orders, slamming his ring-covered knuckles against my face. A sudden rush of blood filled my mouth, and I realized I'd bitten my tongue. The pain pushed everything else out of my mind, but it didn't frighten me as it should have. Oddly, I was less scared the more violent they were; for some senseless reason I suddenly felt like I had nothing to lose, like there was nothing they could do to seriously hurt me. A tiny voice at the back of my mind reminded me this was recklessness to the point of insanity, but it was quickly drowned out.

"Look at me," Sabini was saying, pulling me back to the present, to the dimly lit room. "Look at me."

I stared up, meeting the flashing brown eyes.

"Does he think we don't know?" he said after a moment, with a short, incredulous laugh. "Does he think we don't fuckin' know? He takes up with the Jews, he thinks he can come down to London and pick a side, like it fuckin' works like that." He got closer to me with each word until he was right in front of me, shaking his head down at me. "His life is over. He broke the fuckin' rules."

I had no idea what he was talking about—what side Tommy had picked, what rules there were, how he'd broken them. But I knew enough not to ask; Tommy had told me outright that he'd been sending a message to Sabini with his attack on the Eden Club, and I didn't doubt he'd done more than that, things that I didn't even know about.

I waited for a moment before speaking up, picking my words carefully. "And what do I have to do with any of that?"

He crouched in front of me, grinning like a madman. "You're going to bring him a message. But not today. He don't get off that easy, love. Georgie!" He stood, waving forward the same man as before.

I barely registered another flash of pain across my temple before the world slipped away and I fell unconscious.

* * *

The walls of the room where I was kept were a dreary off-white, cracked in some spots and paint peeling in others. My whole body was sore; it had been at least a couple of days since Sabini had brought me here, and I hadn't had an easy time of it since. He'd thought I had information, that I could spill Tommy's weaknesses and plans and secrets and help him rid his city of the Peaky Blinders. I didn't, of course, but he didn't know that and he predictably didn't believe me, which meant that he increased the brutality with every wrong answer I gave. Every time, he threatened me and Tommy and the Blinders and anyone else he could think of, and I wondered if I'd actually had any information he wanted if I'd have given it up, just to get him to stop. The violence was bad enough, but his words were worse, and the mad bravery I'd had when I first saw him was slipping out of my grasp.

A piece of moldy bread was all they'd given me to eat, and I was desperate enough to pick off the bad pieces and eat the rest, trying to close my eyes and rest as I sat against the wall and considered my situation. I was starving, thirsty, dirty, and sore, and I was just thinking they were going to let me die here in this horrid room when the door burst open and one of Sabini's thick, muscular men ordered me up.

I obeyed silently; by now I'd figured out that it was best not to say anything at all. We went through some narrow corridors that I'd seen before, until we came to a staircase we'd always passed by before. Going down, I felt my stomach tightening and my heart racing; whatever the reason for the change in scenery, I was sure it wasn't good. He led me through a few doors until we were outside, and I had to squint against the bright sunlight. I didn't even notice Sabini, looking at me with distaste, until he started speaking.

"You be a good girl and tell Tommy what I did to you, now," he said, stepping forward until he was right in my face. I tensed but forced myself not to step back. "And you tell him why. You make sure my message is clear, or next time you don't fuckin' leave."

I didn't say anything and he grabbed my chin, fingernails digging into my skin and forcing me to look at him.

"Are you fuckin' deaf?" he asked, speaking slowly as if to an idiot.

"No," I said quietly, hoping that would be enough.

Apparently it was, because he let me go with a little push and stepped back, nodding to the man behind me. He pushed me forward, into the back of another car—whether or not it was the same one that took me to Sabini, I couldn't tell—and got in front. This time I didn't have a blindfold on and I watched the buildings and streets pass in a blur until the car stopped abruptly.

"Get out." The tone was sharp and I obeyed almost immediately, scrambling out of the car and onto the street. I had barely closed the door before he pulled away. For a moment I felt frozen; I could barely believe Sabini had just let me go, but it didn't last long, as the car disappear around a corner and I was left alone with my thoughts. I said a quick prayer of thankfulness before a sudden rush of anger filled me, that the driver and Georgie and the rest of Sabini's men could abduct me and beat me and I let them get away with it.

 _Well, not for long._

I looked around, trying to place myself solidly in reality, and turned to see I'd been left off in front of the Eden Club. It seemed ironic, since Tommy had staked his claim on London by taking over the cub. Well, at least they'd had the decency not to drop me off in the middle of London with no idea where I was.

 _Although, that wouldn't have been the worst thing they'd done._

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to the club, hoping somebody would be in there. I heard men's voices before my eyes could adjust to the dark, some familiar and some not. Moving away from the door and towards the large dance floor, my eyes adjusted and I saw some recognizable faces, all of which looked back at me in shock.

"Is Tommy here?" I asked politely, but my voice came out hoarse. I cleared my throat, trying to keep calm, but it was beginning to register that I was finally _safe_ , finally free, and my muscles were trembling from the shock.

"Yes, love, hold on," said one of the men, before standing up and striding quickly towards the private rooms at the back of the club. I swallowed thickly, feeling uncomfortably self-aware of the filth that had accumulated since I hadn't been able to properly wash. A heavy silence hung over the room and I tried to ignore the polite, curious looks.

Tommy appeared, striding out of one of the back rooms; he looked the same, with the perpetually cool expression, the only difference being a slightly sharper air of tension. As soon as he saw me, he stopped still, the blue eyes frozen on mine.

"Rose," he said softly, sounding like he'd seen a ghost.

"Yes. Hello," I said awkwardly, unsure of how to respond; it felt so odd to not be answering accusations.

"Come with me," he said, regaining his composure after looking at me for a long moment. "Henry, bring me rum."

One of the men got up, following Tommy's orders, and I followed him into what appeared to be his office; there was a typewriter and telephone, and papers strewn everywhere. After getting the rum from Henry, he shut the door, and silence filled the room.

"It was Sabini," I said quickly. The constant buzz of adrenaline that had been keeping me from falling to pieces was wearing off, and I felt the hot rush of tears welling in my eyes. I wiped them away quickly, hoping Tommy hadn't seen. "He said you don't understand how things work in London. Said you broke the rules, that you can't pick sides, I don't know."

Despite myself, the tears kept coming, and I sniffled a little, trying to still the shivers. Before I could say anything else, Tommy had put down the rum and pulled me against him, settling my head on his shoulders. I thought he said something like an apology, but I didn't really care. His shirt was crisp and smelled of him, and the hard shoulder underneath was a solid reminder that I was out of harm's way for now.

"You're alright now, Rose," he said, his voice low and reassuring, and I momentarily wondered if he'd comforted other soldiers during the war, he seemed so practiced. "It's alright, you're home."

I bit back the reply that my I wasn't really at home, not in London, or even in England; it felt nice enough to smell his familiar smell and see his familiar face. Determinedly, I pulled away, drying my eyes.

 _That's enough crying for now, O'Leary. You can always go to pieces later, when you're by yourself._

"What does this mean?" I asked bluntly.

Tommy rubbed his jaw, considering the question before he answered. When he did, his voice was still soft but no longer comforting, instead edged with anger. "It means war, Rose."

"Good." I couldn't stand the thought of Sabini getting his way, not now. I couldn't imagine Tommy backing down from a challenge, anyway.

Tommy raised an eyebrow at my response, but didn't say anything else about it, instead sitting me down with the bottle of rum while he went to talk with Arthur. I took a big mouthful of the rum and tried to ignore the problems facing me, the problems that were only increasing. My mother was still gone and now we had to face Sabini, but I was oddly confident that it'd be alright. I trusted Tommy to be clever enough to find a solution, to win, but I trusted myself, as well. I'd been starved and threatened and beaten and I was still alive, and that was Sabini's mistake, since now I had seen the worst that could happen and knew I could survive it.

* * *

I returned to Ada's house in the company of one of the other Blinders while Tommy stayed behind—not before Arthur had clapped me on the shoulder and said I'd done well, which I supposed was quite nice of him—and she took me into the kitchen and cleaned up the cuts and bruises on my face with a rag and bottle of alcohol.

"You look mad," she said bluntly, holding my hair back with one hand as she wiped the temple. I clenched my jaw, trying not to pay attention to the burn of the alcohol. "Who did this to you, then?"

"Sabini," I answered shortly.

Ada shook her head. "Tommy'd nearly gone out of his mind with worry. I don't think he even slept. Been at the Eden with Arthur since I came home without you. I imagine he'll kill Sabini." She shook her head, a disapproving look on her face. "Fucking Blinders." Standing up, she turned to rinse out the cloth and paused; I could see the profile of her face, looking down at her hands, her expression carefully blank. "I'm sorry I left you," Ada said quietly.

"Don't be," I replied immediately. "I left you, and I'm alive, aren't I? Nothing to worry about now."

"Mm," she said noncommittally. "Right, well, go and take a bath. I'll put out a nightgown on your bed."

I paused a moment. "Thank you, Ada," I said quietly, patting her shoulder gently before I went upstairs to the bathroom.

I filled the tub as much as I could before tossing the dirty dress on the floor and scrubbing off the filth of the past few days, scrubbing off the scent of Sabini and his men and that place. I felt much better when I was done, but I also felt exhausted, and I got into the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

It wasn't deep, though, and my dreams were horrid. I was back with Sabini, and he was threatening me, one of his men restraining me with an arm around my neck and slowly tightening his grip when I didn't answer Sabini's questions with the answers he wanted. I woke up gasping for air and covered in sweat, scrambling to sit up. Tommy was sitting in a chair, smoking a cigarette quietly, but he crossed the room to sit on the bed and pull me against him. He pushed the sweat soaked hair off my forehead, shushing me until I stopped shivering.

"It's alright, Rose, it's just a nightmare," he said, his low voice quiet and soothing. I nodded like a child, resting my head on his solid shoulder and inhaling deeply the scents of whiskey and smoke and Tommy. "Just a nightmare. No one can hurt you, not here, not with me. You're alright, Rose." He moved his hand from to my back, drawing slow circles with his fingers and continuing to murmur reassurances.

I listened to his heartbeat under my ear, trying to slow my breathing to match its rhythm. It was still odd if I thought about it, that Tommy could be so ruthless and frightening but so calming at the same time, but I was almost entirely accustomed to it by now. I hadn't known him before the war, but if Polly's stories about a previously carefree, laughing, mischievous Tommy were to believed, it had given Tommy the complicated personality I'd seen, had molded him into a man capable of violence and gentleness in equal measures.

Tommy shifted so he sat back against the headboard, letting me rest against him, and my heartbeat slowly settled back to normal. I felt fatigue overwhelming me again, and said a quick, silent prayer that my mother would be returned to me—and then, that I'd have my revenge, on both Sabini and Campbell. I fell asleep listening to the quiet sound of Tommy's breathing, smelling the familiar smoke and hoping it would prevent any more bad dreams.


End file.
